


No Vacancy

by mmarkcohenn



Series: No Vacancy [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Dating, Eating Disorders, Eventual Smut, F/M, Falling In Love, Feelings, Fluff, Long Term Relationship, Love Confessions, Love Triangles, Pregnancy, Protective Dean, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam, Protective Sam Winchester, Sexual Tension, Smut, Smut and Fluff, Soulless Sam Winchester, Suicide Attempts, Teenage Pregnancy, more tags to come prob, relationship, sam goes missing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-02 15:27:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 43
Words: 31,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8672665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmarkcohenn/pseuds/mmarkcohenn
Summary: You narrowly escaped your end due to the help of Sam Winchester, a stranger who pulled you off the side of a bridge just before you were about to jump.But, as your father always said: if you're gonna jump--enjoy the fall.





	1. America - 1971

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written fanfic in a long time, so if it's not good, I'm sorry. I'll try to edit it out of my usual RP style writing as that's not very fun to read. While writing, I pictured aesthetics and attempted to write that out; listened to a lot of Halsey, The Beatles, and other music Dean would be proud of.

                 You sat on the edge of the empty motel pool--your body nearly doubled over as you fended off sleep. The cold wind of Minnesota in the fall made you shake harder, the sound of dry leaves scratching along the pavement behind you. In the middle of the night, you didn’t expect to hear much of anything--let alone America’s song, _A Horse With No Name_.  
                 The music emanated out of a 1967 Chevy Impala, which had just pulled into a parking space in front of the neon _‘VACANCY’_ sign. The engine rumbled softly as the driver turned it off. Two men stepped out--both were tall--but one was incredibly taller than the other.  
                 “I’ll get the room, Sammy,” the shorter one said and headed into the office.  
                 You’d only looked up briefly when their car had pulled in--but now, you’d looked back down into the pool, trying to ignore them--hoping the other would ignore you too. But, unluckily--the other guy looked around and then walked over to you.  
                 “Hi,” he smiled warmly and sat on the edge of the pool too.  
                 “Hi,” you spoke softly, not looking up at him.  
                 “You’re shivering…” Sam bit his lip and shuffled around a little.  
                 He wrapped his jacket around you--which warmed you up almost instantly. Sam must’ve been a hot box if just his coat was enough to warm you up that much.  
                 “What’s your name?” He asked, sitting down closer to you this time.  
                 “(y/n),” you spoke softly.  
                 “That’s beautiful,” Sam smiled, “I’m Sam.”  
                 Your cheeks flushed and you nodded, “I like your name too.”  
                 “I like it as long as no one calls me Sammy,” he laughed softly and shrugged a little.  
                 “It’s not a name for a guy like you,” you added.  
                 Sam paused and scooted a little closer to you.  
                 “And what kind of guy am I?”  
                 Finally--you look up at him, meeting his warm hazel eyes. “Tall, strong jaw--abs probably,” you shrug, “and pretty eyes.” You looked back out at the empty pool, “that just doesn’t add up to Sammy.” From the corner of your eye, you could tell a light blush had made its way onto his olive cheeks. “You’ve got pretty eyes too.”  
                 “Sure,” you laughed before you could stop yourself.  
                 “You do.” Sam spoke softer, gently pulling your chin to look back into his eyes.  
                 “Is that just so--”  
                 “It’s not just a pickup line. That’d be something my brother Dean would do--but…” He sighed softly and mulled over your tired features--the dark circles that had settled under your eyes and your jawline that seemed dangerously sharp. “Not me.”  
                 “Sorry for the assumption,” you watched his eyes as they examined you.  
                 A calm silence settled over the two of you--a haunting feeling perched itself in the back of your head, _does he know?_  
                 “Hey Sammy!” A voice rang out, drawing Sam’s attention away from you--his hand moving away from your chin.  
                 He sighed a little and got up, “you got a room?”  
                 “Yeah--who’s your friend?” Dean glanced at you, and back to Sam.  
                 Before he said anything, Sam looked at you--silently asking if it was okay to tell him your name.  
                 You gave a short nod and got up, still clutching Sam’s jacket against your body.  
                 “This is (y/n).” He nodded and wrapped his arm around you--seeing that you were shivering again.  
                 Dean looked between you two and offered, “so do I need to get two rooms?”  
                 “What?” Your eyes got big, “no!” You pulled away from Sam and quickly handed his coat back.  
                 He just gave a dorky grin in response, causing Sam to glare. “Just leave her alone, Dean.”  
                 “I was kidding,” Dean groaned and grabbed a few bags out of their trunk, “room 21--I’ll leave the door open.”  
                 As Dean walked away, Sam sighed and looked at you, “I’m sorry about him--he’s kind of an ass.”  
                 “Aren’t all brothers?” You smile a little and shrug.  
                 Another few moments pass by before Sam asks, “where are you staying?” Something about you gave off a vibe that said you weren’t at the best point of your life.  
                 “In my uh…” You pointed over to a few parked cars, which sat in front of a couple of doors.  
                 “Oh--okay--good,” Sam smiled.  
                 “Yeah,” you nodded and smiled too, walking backwards to your car--that you had been living out of for the past eleven months.  
                 “Goodnight,” he waved a little as you walked away--Sam clutched his coat to his chest, casting one final glance at you before he turned to go to the room Dean had gotten for them.


	2. Queen - 1980

Over a year later, you barely thought about that night when you met Sam. Your back was pressed against the metal railing that you held onto--looking at the river below as it rushed by. Since that night, you’d travelled through many towns--each of them dragged by with uninteresting people, and difficult days.  
In the last town, you’d been walking with your head down and bumped into someone who called you a waste of space.  
That’s how you ended up here on the bridge--staring into the swirling water below you. Just as you were about to step off the ledge--a pair of strong arms wrapped around your middle as someone lifted you over the railing, “what do you think you’re doing? You’re gonna get killed!”  
“That was the point.” You snapped and looked back at your saviour.  
Behind you was Sam--he set you down and paused, “(y/n)? What--Why…”  
“Nothing.” You said quickly and looked at the ground, pulling away from him.  
“Hey!” Sam grabbed your wrist and held you back, “you’re not leaving!”  
“Last time I checked, I could.” You looked back at him and tried to free your hand.  
“Not with me.” He pulled you back and cupped your face in his hands, “you’re not going anywhere.”  
Something about your look made Sam pull back and take your hands--looking at you worriedly.  
“I--I didn’t mean it like that. Unless you wanna go to a hospital so you can be safe, then I need you to stay with me.” He squeezed your hands and looked into your eyes, “I don’t wanna find you against the pavement somewhere.”  
After a few minutes of consideration, you gave into Sam’s kicked puppy look.  
“Fine.” You mumbled and looked at the ground again, “how’d you even find me?”  
“Dean and I were driving and we saw a parked car with the door open. We thought we’d check out the area.” He pulled your chin up gently, “and when we saw you, we parked down there and got out to come get you.” Sam watched your eyes, “figured you’d probably jump if you heard a car.”  
Instead of saying anything, you just nodded and pulled away from his hands, wrapping your arms around yourself.  
“Here…” Sam spoke softly as he wrapped his jacket around you, “do you need your car?”  
“No--it died over there and it’s a piece of shit anyway,” you shrugged a little and cast a glance at the Impala, where Dean watched the two of you intently. “Let’s just go.”


	3. The Beatles - 1968

                You sat uncomfortably in the back of the Impala, staring out the window as rows of corn passed you by. All you wanted was to jump out of the car and leave--but if you tried that, Sam would kill you for trying to escape, and Dean would kill you for breaking the Impala’s window. You didn’t blame him, it was a nice car.

                They had picked you up in Salem on their way to Sacramento--just over an eight hour drive. As the Impala rolled down I-5 S, the silence of the car ride had become too heavy. No one had said a word since you had curled up in the backseat; even though you hadn’t tried to fight it all that much, it felt like you and Sam had a full out war over it.

                Not too long into your ride, Dean had stuck in a cassette tape for The Beatles compilation album, _1967-1970_. It was back to the first song, and you kept wondering about the one Dean had skipped. Though you weren’t a great Beatles fan, you knew--or at least had heard snippets of many of their songs. As the songs had played, you got the feeling that a vital one was missing; yet for some reason, you couldn’t name it.

                The road had seemed to stretch on for hours, Sam had slept a little while, whereas Dean was wide awake--though the bags under his eyes said otherwise. Exit 2 was fast approaching, and Dean pulled the Impala off the highway--sighing when he saw the sunrise peek over the buildings.

                “There’s a motel around here, Timbers, I think.” He looked around and followed a few signs, then nodded, “just this way.” His sudden filling of the silence was unexpected, and caught both you and Sam off guard. “We stayed here with our dad when we were kids.”

                “Why?” You asked, staring at the dimming streetlights, “were you guys roamers?”

                “Something like that.” Dean nodded, “we never settled down in one spot.”

                “A month or so at the very most,” Sam chimed in, fighting his urge to glance back at you.

                “How quaint.” You nodded and looked back at your hands, not sure what it had to do anything.

                “There’s a bar a few blocks away,” the older brother mentioned, glancing back in the rearview mirror at you. “If you’re interested.”

                “I’m alright,” you shook your head and played with your sleeves, a lame attempt at distracting yourself from the overwhelming pressure that built in your chest. “I’m okay.”

                The brothers glanced at each other before nodding in agreement--whatever their secret language was, you found yourself a little jealous. Dean pulled the Impala into the Timbers parking lot and made you and Sam stay in the car. Barely thirty seconds had passed before you broke down. Sam turned around to look at you. He’d expected you to bust out and yell at him or try to escape--crying had never crossed his mind.

                “(y/n)?” Sam spoke softly as he reached out to gently touch your arm.

                “I don’t know what I’m doing,” you cried--resting your forehead against your hand, “I didn’t think I’d be alive right now. My plans ended at three in the morning. What am I supposed to do now? Where do I go from here?”

                Your body shook under the mass amount of stress you were finally letting out, and you felt like you would stay like this for forever.

                Sam hesitated for a moment, then took your free hand and squeezed it tightly, “(y/n), it’ll get better.”

                That didn’t make you feel better. If anything, _that_ made you want to bitch Sam out--but before you got the chance, he continued.

                “I know it doesn’t feel like that.” Sam swallowed hard and squeezed your hand again, “it doesn’t feel like anything’s going to get better. You--You seem like you’ve felt like this for a long time, right?” Sam asked, sighing shakily.

                You couldn’t speak--so you nodded a few times and squeezed your eyes shut.

                “Then it’s gonna take a long time to realize that it’ll be okay in the end.” Sam bit his lip and tried to think of more he could say to you, but he had no idea if any of it would help. “I lost my mom when I was a baby and every day I still miss her. I never got to know her. It’s taken me up until college to realize that I’m okay. That losing her was okay.” Sam squeezed your hand again and shifted a little, making it so he could see you easier. “Even though I miss her every day, it’s okay that I feel that way. I’m allowed to feel that way.”

                You had stopped heaving with each breath and were focused on his words, which pulled you back to reality, “how old were you when she died?”

                “Six months old.”

                “And you had just your dad after that?”

                “My dad and Dean,” Sam nodded, glad that you were finally looking up at him, “Dean practically raised me.”

                “Have you ever thanked him for it?” You rubbed your eyes and held onto his hand--not ready to let go.

                Sam didn’t say anything--your words hung heavy in the air as he thought through your question.

                “I haven’t, actually,” he finally said as he nodded, “I never have.”

                “You should,” your voice was light--just loud enough for Sam to hear.

                Both of you jumped as the driver’s door opened up, Dean poked his head in and glanced between you and Sam, “please tell me the chick flick moment is over.”

                “ _Dean_ ,” Sam rolled his eyes and let go of your hand--giving it one final squeeze.

                “Come on,” he laughed a little--trying to break the tension. “I got us a room.”

                Although most people would’ve been thrown off by the fact that Dean was expecting you, a stranger, to sleep in the same room as he and his brother. On the same note, most people wouldn’t sleep in the same room as two strangers who you’d met briefly a year before they rescued you. Sam cast a glance at you, silently asking if it was okay. You nodded in response and got out of the car; Sam got out too and grabbed a duffle bag from the back, tossing one to Dean as well.

                “Room 103,” Dean tossed the keys to you and nodded towards a door that was close by.

                You caught the keys and went where he had told you to go. Up until now, you hadn’t realized that you were shaking so hard--it was bad enough that every time you tried to put the key into the lock, you slipped up and dropped them.

                Behind you, Sam and Dean were looking at each other worriedly. Their silent communication worked again and Sam took Dean’s bag; he went to the door and took the keys from you.

                “Hey, hey, hey…” He shushed soothingly, “it’s okay. You’re okay.” Sam wrapped his arm around you and opened the door, “go pick a bed, okay? Dean’s gonna go get some food for us and then you can sleep.”

                You tensed at his suggestion of food, although it definitely would help your shaking. Instead of saying anything, you nodded curtly and took the bed on the far side of the room, and crawled up on it. Sam followed you in and set the bags down; he rummaged around in them and found a hoodie and sweatpants.

                “You can change into these if you want,” he offered them to you, “you seem cold.”

                “I am,” you said quietly and took the clothes.

                Sam turned his attention back to the bags, allowing you privacy to change wherever you wanted. You got up and went to the bathroom, tugging off the clothes you’d been wearing for too long and pulling on the giant ones that you’d been given. On the drive down, you had noticed that Sam and Dean were rugged--they smelled like gunpowder, cigarettes, and cheap shampoo. Oddly enough, it was comforting.

                The clothes you had on smelled like that too--but there was something else too, though you couldn’t pinpoint what it was. When you walked out of the bathroom and back to the bed, Sam had pulled the extra blankets from the closet out and set them on the bed you’d claimed.

                “Thank you,” you said softly as you climbed up again.

                “Yeah--of course,” Sam smiled and set down a beat up laptop.

                Silence overcame the room again as you tried to think of something to talk about.

                “So… You and Dean, what is it that you do?” You asked, pulling one of the blankets up around your shoulders.

                “It’s kind of hard to explain,” Sam confessed, shrugging, “you probably wouldn’t believe me, either.”

                “I think we’re kind of past the point of ‘hard to explain’, Sam,” there was a slight joking sound to your voice as you smiled--trying to feel better.

                He laughed lightly and nodded in agreement, “okay--how about this: we take turns asking each other questions. Deal?”

                “Deal,” you nodded, “so what do you and your brother do?”

                “I’ll answer that later,” Sam sat on the edge of the opposite bed, “there’s better questions to ask.”

                “Fine, fine,” you rolled your eyes and tapped your fingers against your chest. “How old are you?”

                “Twenty-three.” Sam smiled, “you?”

                “Eighteen,” you bit your lip, “almost nineteen.”

                “How far away is your birthday?” He asked, leaning back on his palms.

                “Three weeks.” You nodded, carefully studying him in his relaxed form. “Is it just you and Dean?”

                “Yeah, our mom died when we were kids, and our dad…” Sam sighed and looked at the ground, “he died just a few months ago.”

                “What happened to him?” You pushed, not trying to pry, but wanting to know.

                Sam was about to answer, but he shook his head, “it’s my turn to ask a question.” He smiled a little at the opportunity for a subject change. “What were you doing on that bridge?”

                That made you stop--you could feel your heart pound in your chest as you tried to formulate a good answer.

                “I… I was ready for it to stop.” Your voice had dropped its happy edge, “I’ve been putting it off for years because I was always waiting for something good to come along, but I got to the point where I couldn’t wait.” Your gaze dropped to your hands, “I tried a few times in high school but I always ended up failing. It was l--”

                “It’s not like it was a test.” Sam cut you off, now leaning forward with his elbows on his thighs, “‘failed’ isn’t the right word. You were strong enough to keep going.” He sighed softly and shook his head, “(y/n), you’re still alive for a reason.”

                “Poetic.”

                “No,” Sam laughed a little, shaking his head, “it’s pathetic. I can sing kumbaya for you and preach some story, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re here because you’ve still got things to do.”

                You two stared at each other for a few minutes--Sam moved like he was going to come over to you, but he froze when there was a knock at the door.

                “O--Oh…” He muttered softly and went to the door, checking through the peephole before opening it.

                Dean walked in with a couple bags, “having fun?” He asked jokingly as he walked in and set the bags on a small table in the corner.

                “Playing twenty questions,” you smiled and curled up tighter.

                “Truth or dare is better,” Dean laughed and sorted a few things out, then walked over to you and set a bag down. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I got a little of everything.”

                “Thank you,” you said softly as you looked through the bag--surprised by his generosity.

                “Yeah,” Dean nodded and handed Sam a bag too, “same for you, Sammy. ‘Cept, I made sure to get just healthy shit for you.”

                “Thanks,” Sam rolled his eyes, but laughed a little anyways.

                Sam and Dean dug into their food right away, whereas you picked at a bag of chips--slowly making your way through a quarter of the bag. The brothers noticed, but didn’t say anything. They weren’t about to push you to do anything. Once they were done eating (you had already abandoned your chips and lied down to try and stay warm), they got ready to sleep--Dean basically stayed in the same clothes he was wearing, but Sam changed and was about to get into the other bed with Dean when you piped up.

                “Uhm--Sam?”

                “Yeah?” He turned to you, smiling kindly.

                “Can you--I mean--if you wanted to… Would you um--sleep here?” You gently patted the spot next to you on the large bed, which made you feel like a little mouse in a huge maze.

                He blinked in surprise, but nodded anyway, “yeah--sure.”

                Your cheeks were on fire as Sam crawled in next to you. He absolutely radiated heat, just like you had hoped. Cautiously, you shifted closer to him, not sure how he would react--but silently praying that it would be okay. After a few minutes had passed, Sam bit his lip and asked, “can I um..?”

                Sam motioned like he was going to pull you up against him--you nodded and shifted closer to him. You rested your head against his chest and he wrapped his arms around you tightly, making you feel warmer than you had in what felt like a lifetime. The both of you drifted off to sleep--a new sense of safety bonding you together.


	4. The Zombies - 1968

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kudos and comments! 
> 
> I was so nervous about posting this story because I'm just writing it when I stop thinking and it's turning out a lot differently than I expected. 
> 
> Each chapter has a song that goes with it--if you're interested, I can post the songs in notes at the end!

                Over the next few days, you got to see how Sam and Dean worked together (and sometimes, how they worked against each other). They had agreed that you weren’t allowed to go out alone, which was pretty reasonable. Most often, Sam stayed behind with you doing ‘research’, though whatever it was he was researching wasn’t specified. The boys often spoke in hushed conversations while you showered--even through the thick wooden door, you could hear them bicker over hunts.

                Despite your curiosity, you didn’t ask. There were some things you didn’t want to know--and whatever they were hunting sounded dangerous.

                It was your fifth day in Eugene; Dean had left early that morning to go out for something (that something involved a very nice suit that you never imagined him owning). Sam had offered you a book a few days ago that you were making your way through--some cheesy romance novel that Dean battered him over having.

                Sam’s defense had echoed in your mind since the minute he said it.

_                 “It was Jess’s.” _

_                 That _ had gotten Dean to stop. Something bad must’ve happened to Jess.

                You were nearly halfway through it when you stuck a small sheet from the motel notepad into the book. Something about sitting around was agony, and the fact that you were freezing didn’t help.

                “Do you want another blanket, (y/n)?” Sam asked, setting his laptop aside.

                “No,” you shook your head and made grabby hands for the giant man, “blankets don’t help unless I’m already warm.”

                He laughed softly and crawled into the bed next to you, “when I pulled you over the edge of that bridge, I didn’t think you’d be so lovey.”

                “Shut up,” you blushed bright red and nuzzled your face in his broad chest.

                “Make me, (y/l/n),” he grinned, pulling you closer.

                “Oh, make you, Winchester?” You laughed and pulled back a little, looking up at him, “you’re getting a little feisty, aren’t you?”

                “I was joking,” Sam shook his head, laughing harder, “you took it to that level.”

                “W--Well, I mean..” You blushed and laughed nervously, glancing at your hands, “I didn’t mean to um…”

                “Hey, it’s okay,” he smiled and bit his lip, “I was just joking.”

                You didn’t know what it was about him. Maybe it was because he’d saved you from yourself--that might’ve been what made him so attractive. Or maybe it was because he had a silver tongue. No matter what he said, there seemed to be a clever edge to it. While Dean could be boorish at times, Sam was always refined. The way he curled up with you at night with his hand tangled in your hair. More than once, you’d stared at his features as he slept; the way his eyebrows furrowed and his breath quickened--the same dream almost every night. The first few times you’d witnessed it, you hadn’t known what to do, and just asked if he was okay when he jolted awake. 

                Now, whenever you felt his chest rise and fall with the same quickness, you’d put your hand on his chest and press down a little--just enough to feel his heart pounding. This action would relaxed him a lot more than you expected it would’ve. Sam must’ve seen this in your eyes, because he gently pulled your chin up.

                “Are you okay?”

                “Wh--” You glanced up at his eyes, “what?”

                “Are you okay?” He laughed softly, “you look like you’re kind of lost.”

                “Oh--um… I was just thinking,” you shook your head.

                “About something, obviously,” Sam nodded, “tell me what you’re thinking about.”

                “Are you sure you wanna know?” You asked hesitantly.

                “Why would I be asking if I didn’t?” He pressed a little.

                You bit your lip to try and quickly come up with something, “um--just… I was thinking about what it’s like now.”

                “What it’s like now?”

                “Yeah--I mean--now that I basically sort of live with you and Dean.” You mumbled quietly.

                So far, none of you had said anything about the future. There was an unspoken pact that seemingly had formed over the past few days. You hadn’t asked, and they hadn’t offered. But the way they looked at you was more than obvious--you weren’t going to be alone anymore.

                “You do wanna live with us?” Sam asked--surprised as hell.

                “I--I mean--if that’s okay,” you shook your head and started moving away from him, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assum--”

                Sam pulled you back against him and held your face in his hands--the intensity of it would’ve been overwhelming normally--but you matched it. The way he had pulled you back made you straddle his hips, something you didn’t realize you wanted to do. His hands held onto your wrists, keeping you fixed on the spot.

                Your eyes met and it was like you both thought the same thing. Sam’s hands moved to cup your face as you leaned down; your lips crashing together. His hands moved to your hair, your hands moved to rest on his chest; Sam kissed you sweetly and sat up to meet you halfway. Your heart raced as his skin heated up.

                It felt like forever had passed when you and Sam pulled away--your eyes meeting from the few inches of distance. Neither of you said a word--neither of you had to.

                “What the hell did I just walk in on?” Dean asked as he stood in the doorway of the motel room.


	5. The Subdudes - 2006

                Dean had pulled Sam outside to talk--something you didn't want to hear, but couldn't help listening to.

                “What did I tell you?” Dean demanded, his tone hushed.

                “I didn't plan on it happening, Dean,” you could hear Sam sigh. “We were messing around and--”

                “We found her on the edge of a bridge just before she was about to jump.” He cut his little brother off, “you know what she doesn't need from you? This.” His voice grew in volume with each word, “she needs to work on not wanting to kill herself. Not some short term fling that’ll make her feel worse in the end.”

                “I never said I wanted to be in a relationship with her,” Sam shook his head.

                While that thought hadn't really,  _ really _ occurred to you, there was still a twinge in your chest when Sam said that. You had to admit, you did feel  _ something _ for him, but what it was was unclear still. As you curled into another blanket, your lips buzzed with the spark that Sam had created. Well, both of you did it. It wasn't Sam who made you kiss him or anything--you had met each other halfway.

                “Can I still leave you alone with her?” Dean asked, sounding too tired to berate his brother.

                “Yeah, of course,” Sam sighed softly, shuffling his feet as he tried to think of what you might've been feeling.

                The boys came back into the room, bringing in the uncomfortable air that had settled between them. Several minutes of silence passed before you sat up to look at them.

                “You shouldn't just yell at Sam,” you said--your voice firmer than it had ever been.

                “Excuse me?” Dean asked, arching an eyebrow at you.

                “It wasn't one sided. I kissed him just as much as he kissed me.”

                Sam looked at you in surprise--not pegging you as the person who would stand up against Dean.

                “That’s no--”

                “You act like I'm gonna try to jump again.” Your voice lost that edge when you spoke again--part of you scared to admit that you'd been feeling like you wanted to do it. “A--and I'm not saying that I don't still feel that.. urge. But this isn't something that'll push me.”

                “(y/n), you don't have to do this,” Sam said softly, biting his lip as he walked closer to you.

                Dean grabbed his brother’s arm and held him in place for a minute before he stalked over to you. “If you want to get better, that's up to you. But I'm not gonna stand by and watch you try to kill yourself again. Sammy and I save people, (y/n), and whether or not you want to be saved, you've got a life to live and we’re not gonna leave you until we’re sure you're gonna be okay.”

                “Sam and I kissing has nothing to do with that.” You pointed out, “we’re all adults and if Sam and I wanna kiss each other, that's really none of your business, Dean.”

                The brothers looked at each other in surprise--Dean didn't know what to say to that. 

                “I’m sorry.” You quickly added, “I um--I’ll just go shower.”

                They didn’t say anything as you shuffled off the bed and quickly ran into the bathroom--feeling a pounding in your chest that you hadn’t felt in ages.


	6. The Mamas and The Papas - 1966

                Two more days had passed before you three hit the road. Not before long, Eugene, Oregon was far in the rearview mirror. Sam and you hadn’t really had a moment to talk about what happened; at least not yet. The Impala rolled past the California border, giving you about four and a half more hours before you’d get to Sacramento.

                Dean had pulled off the highway at Weed, which he continued to smirk about even though you and Sam rolled your eyes at all of his jokes. He stopped at a gas station after Sam practically begged to get out and stretch.

                “Yeah, yeah, calm yourself, gigantor.” Dean rolled his eyes as the Impala came to a stop.

                Almost instantly, Sam had popped out and was roaming around. Not only had the ride been long, but the unspoken silence had been surmounting past comfort, and the tension was finally relieved at the opened door.

                “Don’t go too far, Sammy!” Dean called out after his brother, who in turn, shot a sassy look back.

                You got out of the car and debated following Sam, but had a feeling that Dean would throw a fit if he saw you two anywhere near each other. So instead, you went into the gas station with him--which turned out to be a short break because almost right away, Sam yanked you back outside.

                “Hey--sorry, I--sorry.” Sam knew pulling you like that wasn’t the kindest way to get your attention, but he needed it.

                “It’s fine,” you shook your head and looked at his hand, which was gripping you tightly.

                He saw your eyes glance down and loosened his grip, “I just--I needed to talk.”

                “Okay,” something about his urgency calmed you--it had a similar feel to the faces he made when he had nightmares. “It’s okay, honey,” you soothed him; the pet name new to both of you.

                The name made you blush, especially since it was so fluid and you hadn’t even thought twice about it. To avoid question, you quickly pulled Sam to the side of the building--knowing Dean wouldn’t be able to see you until he went looking.

                “I’m sorry for everything.” He bit his lip and watched you, barely giving you a second to think let alone understand his words. “I know you probably heard Dean and I talking to each other and--I just don’t want you to think that I don’t like you. Cause I do, and I know Dean has a point--but what you said was right. We’re adults and he doesn’t have say or control unless y--”

                You knew the end of his sentence and you were absolutely sick of hearing it. After thinking about it since the moment your first kiss ended, you pulled Sam back in for another. He seemed to tense at the movement at first, but eased into it eventually--his arms going to wrap around your waist as he stooped down to meet your height.

                A solid minute or so passed when you finally pulled back for air.

                “I’m not fragile, okay?” Your eyes flickered between his hazel ones, which only made you want to kiss him again. “I know I’m not in a good place right now, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna break. I’ve felt a  _ lot _ better in the past week with you and Dean than I have in the eighteen years that lead me here. You guys  _ have _ to stop acting like I’ll die if I’m not watched. Where I am right now is incredibly better than where I was a month ago. Fuck--a  _ week _ ago, Sam.”

                “I can’t remember the last time I felt okay--the last time where I didn’t want to die instead of fall asleep. But now every night I get to sleep next to you and I feel like it’s worth it to wake up the next morning. I’ve always been left to fend for myself, but for the first goddamn time in my life I have two guys who’re watching out for me.” Your hands dropped to rest on Sam’s chest, smoothing out the fabric as you calmed down, “please stop treating me like I’m gonna jump again.”

                Admitting all of that had taken a lot out of you in more ways than one. A heavy weight was lifted from your shoulders, but you hadn’t been ready to say most of it. And the long ride was just getting to you know. Sam’s arms tightened around you and he nodded, kissing you again. Something in your chest fluttered and his touch became relaxing.

                When he pulled away again, you rested your head on his chest.

                “C’mon, let’s get you back into the Impala.”

                Sam ushered you into the backseat; instead of getting in the front like he usually would, Sam crawled in back with you. Even though he was a giant, Sam seemed to fit next to you with no problem. You laid down and rested your head in his lap, suddenly craving intimacy with him. When Dean got back in the car, he glared back at Sam.

                “What do you think you’re doing?” He asked calmly, looking at you for a brief second to clarify.

                “It’s fine, Dean,” Sam reassured him--and again, their secret language said more than words ever could. 

                Dean hesitated, but nodded in the end, and pulled back onto the highway.


	7. The Animals -1964

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness, thank you so much for all the nice comments that I keep getting and the kudos!! 
> 
> I think at the end of this fic (which isn't soon at all), I'll make a playlist with all of the songs in order so you guys can get a feel for what I imagined in each chapter? I'm not sure yet, but I think that'd be pretty cool.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading <3

                Your first day in Sacramento was nothing but sleep--Sam had to carry you into the motel you were  _ that _ passed out. The change from Impala to bed wasn’t much--only warmer. At some point, you’d woken up, but kept your eyes shut because of what you heard.

                “You found  _ nests _ ?” As in plural?” Dean’s voice was hushed.

                “Yeah, Dean--all of them  _ miles _ apart.”

                “That’s not normal.”

                “How is anything we do normal?”

                “Touche.”

                Sam sighed and leaned back in a creaky chair.

                “So what do we do? Just go in and ambush?” Dean asked, setting down a bottle on the wooden table.

                “No, if we get one nest they’ll just run to warn the next.”

                “So what’s the plan, Sammy?”

                “There are some more hunters around here--I called Bobby and he gave me their names and numbers. We could call them and set up an attack.” Sam was typing as he spoke, and you could’ve sworn that this was a dream.

                “Okay,” Dean nodded, still somewhat reluctant. “What do we do with (y/n)?”

                Sam didn’t respond right away--you could imagine his jaw clenching as he thought it through.

                “We tell her. We bring her with.”

                “ _ What? _ ” Dean asked, his voice a dangerous growl.

                “She’s been with us long enough, Dean. (y/n) isn’t stupid. She knows something’s up.”

                “Okay, so--say we tell her. If she doesn’t think we’re crazy and doesn’t try to call a fucking mental hospital, she could still leave.” The older brother said firmly. “If we tell her, she could go out and expose us, Sam.”

                “(y/n) wouldn’t do that, Dean--you know that.” Sam shook his head and closed his laptop.

                “She could still leave.”

                “Then she leaves.” Sam snapped--though his voice wasn’t sharp, it was heavy. “I can’t make her stay.”

                “No, Sam, you  _ have _ to convince her to stay. We’re cursed. Anyone we touch, their lives are fucked because their name is added first priority to the goddamn monster bounty hunter list. She stays or she dies.  _ You _ know that.” Dean’s voice had raised as he was talking, which was accompanied by a whack.

                “You’re gonna wake her up if you get any louder.” Sam huffed, “jerk.”

                “Bitch.”

                Neither brother said a word for several minutes; you panicked slightly, afraid that they might’ve realized you were awake already.

                “I’ll train her, okay?” Sam finally spoke, “she’ll be ready. We’ll call in the other hunters for help. It’ll be okay.”

                One of them got up, their chair squeaking slightly against the floor.

                “You act like you hate her,” Sam’s voice was softer, he hadn’t been the one to get up.

                “I don’t hate her.” Dean shook his head and there was a pop, unmistakably a bottle cap being tugged off.

                “Then why do you ac--”

                “I actually like her a lot.” Dean confessed, looking over at his brother, “I’m worried that she’s gonna get hurt if she stays with us, Sam.” You heard him sigh and take a few steps closer to the bed you had been set in. “When we found her on that bridge, I was terrified. If we’d been a minute later, she would’ve jumped.”

                “But we  _ did _ find her before anything happened.” Sam tried to point out.

                “That’s not the point--she could easily get overwhelmed because of what we do. She’s not strong enou--”

                “Excuse me?” Sam laughed, “she’s stronger th--”

                “Listen to me.” If you hadn’t been awake already,  _ that _ would’ve woken you up. “Have you seen how much she eats? (y/n) is running on water and three chips every two days. I’m not saying she’s weak, I’m saying that she’s got something else going on that we need to help her with.”

                They sighed in unison, and all you wanted to do was jump up and ask what the  _ hell _ was going on. A few minutes passed, then Dean grabbed the keys to the Impala.

                “I’m gonna go get us dinner. We’re not gonna make her eat, but we’re gonna try to talk her into it.” He said as he walked out the door, closing it softly behind him.

                The tension in the room dropped once the door was closed. Sam shuffled some things around and you heard him sniff a little. You opened your eyes to see him sitting on the other bed with his head in his hands.

                “What’s wrong, lovie?” You asked, sitting up just a little.

                Sam looked up at you and shook his head, quickly rubbing his eyes, “nothing--everything’s okay.” He smiled and got up, “how’re you feeling?”

                “I’d be better with you here,” you scooted over and patted the spot you’d just been sleeping in.

                He laughed softly, smiling like a happy puppy. Sam crawled in next to you and wrapped his arms around you tightly. Normally, you would rest your head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat, but this time, you pressed your hand to his chest and kissed his jaw. One of his hands moved up and played with your hair, mindlessly twirling locks around his fingers while you kept kissing.

                You took your time with trailing them down--that is, until you were almost kissing his chin. Sam had relaxed into your touch, his hand still playing with your hair as his focus shifted to you. In a sudden surge of confidence, you moved and straddled him, moving your kisses to his neck. His hips shifted under yours and he sighed shakily; you took his hands and moved them to your hips, purposefully pulling up your shirt enough so there wasn’t something in the way of this small gesture of intimacy.

                There was a spot you’d just grazed your lips over that made him whine. His hips rocked up against yours, which made your movements shakier; experimentally, you nipped at that spot--making him moan louder. Sam must’ve felt you smirking against his skin, because in the next moment, he had flipped you over, now kneeling between your legs as he kissed you with this slow intensity that made you whimper against his lips.

                His hands gripped your waist tightly, pulling you up ever so slightly. When he pulled back, Sam ran his hand through your hair. Neither of you had to speak, his look said it all. You nuzzled your face in his neck and moved so you would be lying next to him. Without much thought, you tugged your shirt off and Sam followed your lead.

                While the room wasn’t cold, it definitely wasn’t comfortable--but you two moved back to how you usually were when you were lying next to each other. You rested your head against his chest and traced words on his arm, settling into the comfortable silence.

                “How’d you come up with ‘lovie’?” Sam asked.

                “Oh--it just kinda happened on accident, I guess,” you shrugged and looked up at him, “why?”

                “I love how it sounds,” he smiled cutely, but that sadness was still in his eyes, “that’s all.”


	8. Asia - 1982

                Sam had left early in the morning, going out to do something that you assumed had to do with hunting or vampires. When the door had closed, you got up and crawled over to Dean’s bed and climbed in. You were so tired that you hadn’t thought twice about it--all you wanted was warmth, and with Sam gone, Dean was your only source of heat.

                He adjusted only a little when you curled up and put your head on his chest. Dean’s arm had wrapped around your shoulders as he pulled you closer. Though you knew you had moved, it didn’t really register. His warmth radiated out of his chest, whereas Sam’s was all over. Maybe you’d been sleeping next to the wrong Winchester.


	9. Jethro Tull - 1970

                A few hours later, something about Dean’s position had changed, and it woke you up. Your face had been hidden in his shirt, which you held onto with both hands. As you pulled away, you looked up at Dean, who stared down at you with his deep, kelly green eyes. Until now, you hadn’t noticed that his eyes sparkled as if gold was mined from them; it took your breath away.

                “(y/n).” His voice was softer than you’d ever heard. It wasn’t gentle, like he was trying to calm you down. It wasn’t quiet, not trying to keep you asleep. It wasn’t smooth--if anything, his voice crackled like gravel. But it was soft. A new view of you had been instilled in him and it had changed everything. 

                “Dean,” you matched it, your eyes falling to the dip in his upper lip, and noticeably tracing the curves with your eyes.

                His gaze was locked on you, taking you in for all you’re worth. Dean shifted so he could see you better, moving his hand to rest on your jaw.

                The movement made your chest flutter--although you didn’t expect anything between you and Dean. The action had a sweetness to it, lacking any and all flirtatious nature--which was strange for him. You had leaned into his touch, your eyes fluttering shut. Dean moved again and pressed his forehead against yours, keeping his hand resting on your jaw.

                It stayed like this for quite some time; neither of you moving away or adjusting. It was comfortable. A silent promise of support ran down your spine and you shivered, understanding it now. When Dean finally pulled away, he grabbed the blanket you had brought over and wrapped it around your shoulders again.

                “Do you want another one?” He asked, still fixed on your eyes.

                “I just need to be warm,” you responded quietly. This wave of care and love washed over you, and it seemed to eat at Dean--but he was a tough son of a bitch, and wouldn’t admit it. Not easily at least.

                “Go shower.” Dean shifted around and nodded, “it’ll warm you up--Sam should be back by then.”

                The abruptness of his suggestion wasn’t odd to you--not anymore. Whenever Dean got close to a touchy-feely moment, he would take twelve steps back and put his hands up. You nodded and got up from the bed, then went to the bathroom and shut the door behind you. The latch hadn’t even clicked when you heard Dean sigh in the most painful way--and all you wanted was to go back out to him and pull him into a hug.

                But that’s not Dean. That’s not your relationship with him.

                Your shower took some time--using it mostly as an excuse to give Dean as much time and space as he needed. Once you felt cleaner than you ever had, you turned the shower off and got dressed again--drying your hair with one of the scratchy motel towels. As you walked out of the bathroom, Sam’s voice rang clear--but it was cut off by your entrance.

                “(y/n),” Sam smiled, looking a little miffed at Dean, but happy to see you nonetheless.

                “Hey lovie,” you smiled and went over to him, giving him a quick kiss before you grabbed the hairbrush you all shared. “What’re you guys talking about?”

                “Oh--well, that’s…” Sam blushed bright red because of the look Dean was giving him. “Oh shut up, Dean.”

                “Lovie,” he laughed, smirking like a kid who’d heard a naughty word.

                You could see Sam struggling to come up with a comeback, so you cut in.

                “Sweetpea, just leave him alone.”

                Now it was Dean’s turn to blush an absurd amount.

                “You’re named after a food,” Sam laughed and got up, going to the bed you were sitting on, “but we do have to talk to you.”

                “Okay,” you nodded--already having a feeling that the conversation could go two ways.

                Sam was skeptical of your positivity, but launched in anyways. 

                “You’ve asked what we do and we’ve been kind of… Cryptic, to say the least.” Sam nodded, “but now that you’ve been with us for a while, we have to tell you what our job  _ really _ is.”

                “Shoot,” you pressed just a little--kind of wanting to freak them out by already knowing, but figuring that they wouldn’t find it as funny as you would.

                “We hunt things.” Dean said, “monsters. Werewolves, sirens, wendigos… You name it, we’ve killed it.”

                Each of the brothers looked at you with a fear that you’d burst--but you shocked them by nodding a little.

                “Dragons?”

                “Wh--” Dean looked from you to Sam and back. “Dragons don’t exist.”

                “And I was told that sirens were just mean mermaids, but we both know that isn’t true,” you smiled kindly--making your point pretty clear.

                “So… You’re not freaked out?” Sam asked, raising an eyebrow at your unresponsiveness to the shocking news.

                “No,” you shook your head, “I know I should be, but I’m not.”

                “Huh,” Dean nodded slowly, “what if I told you that we needed your help?”

                “With a hunt?”

                “Yeah.” Sam cut in, cautiously mentioning, “there’s a compound of vampires, basically--we need your help taking it down.”

                You thought about it for a moment--this was the stuff you’d read about in books as a kid. Although back then, you thought it was all fake.

                “Okay.” You nodded and stretched, finding it funny how shocked they got when you acted like it was no big deal. “I’ll fight the vampires with you.”

                “You’ll have to go through training,” Dean warned.

                “That’s fine,” you shrugged, challenging his attitude by being calm.

                “Good.” He pushed up off the bed and nodded slowly, “training starts tomorrow.”


	10. Jethro Tull - 1969

                Dean had woken you and Sam up early--barely giving you time to get dressed before Sam and you were crawling into the back seat of the Impala.

                “I feel like I’m driving Miss Daisy.” Dean joked, although it genuinely bothered him.

                “You wouldn’t if you hadn’t woken us up at the ass crack of dawn,” Sam groaned.

                He was laying down (as much as he could), with his head in your lap.

                “It’s training, Sammy, it’s not supposed to be fun,” the older brother glanced back at you two.

                “You could’ve let us--”

                “Shhh,” you hushed Sam, your fingers combing through his hair, “just get some sleep, lovie.”

                He calmed at your words, leaning into your touch as he slowly drifted off again. While you were tired too, you weren’t about to make a scene over it. Dean noticed though; and oddly enough, he seemed like he appreciated it. As he drove, you watched the people on the street--wondering what other kinds of things were out there, and if they mixed into the crowd, unnoticed. 

                “Want any coffee?” Dean brought you out of your thoughts, looking back at you expectantly.

                “Um--yes please.” You nodded.

                Honestly, you could do without the coffee. But Dean was reaching out in his own way--and you didn’t want to reject it. 

                “Alright,” he said quietly as he pulled into the next gas station you passed. 

                When he’d parked the Impala, you carefully slid out from the back, making sure to ease Sam’s head down to the seat as not to disrupt his sleep. Dean got out and walked into the gas station, glancing back at you to follow.

                There were a few burly men who you assumed to be truckers, since there had been several rigs in a farther lot on the other side of the building. You went straightway to the coffee station--trying your hardest to sweeten the bitter, lukewarm coffee that was left in the pots. Dean had been searching the aisles for snacks, which gave one of the truckers the opportunity to try and flirt with you.

                “Hey honey,” he came up behind you, purposefully pressing his chest against your back as he reached for a cup.

                You didn’t say anything--you just wanted coffee. That was all.

                “It’s rude to ignore people,” he huffed and held his cup out to you. “Fill me up?”

                “You have hands.” You retorted with too much confidence that you didn’t have.

                “I asked nicely.”

                “No you didn’t.” You snapped--staring him down.

                “Someone’s feisty,” he smirked and got closer to you, “I like feisty.”

                You lost that surge--he seemed to tower over you as you took steps back, trying to put some distance between your bodies.

                “Heh,” the trucker laughed in annoyance, and went over to her, “you’re not gonna get away from me, girlie.”

                “Excuse me?” Dean’s voice rang out--his arms crossed over his chest as he stared at the man who had you cornered.

                The man turned around to stare at Dean, “what do you want?”

                “I want you to leave my girlfriend alone--that’s what.” He clenched his jaw and stepped towards him.

                “Girlfriend?” The trucker looked back at you, and then to Dean. “You should keep a better eye on her.”

                “She’s not property,” Dean pulled the guy away, “but she’s with me, and you’re gonna have to leave her alone.”

                The guy mumbled something and left you with Dean, who wrapped his arm around your waist and pressed a kiss to your forehead--staring the man down until he left.

                “Thank you,” you mumbled and hid your face in his shoulder, shaking slightly from the encounter.

                Dean seemed thrown off by your thanks--it was something he would’ve done for anyone.

                “Um--yeah,” he nodded, “of course.”

                You held onto him for a few more minutes and then pulled away, going to the register.

                “Hold on,” Dean grabbed your wrist--pulling you back to him. “You’re gonna eat something.”

                You shuffled awkwardly and looked at your cup, “but I--”

                “Look,” he sighed, “I see what’s going on. I don’t know why you’re doing it or why you feel like you have to. But the thing is, hunting is a rough business; and either you’re gonna eat something and come along, or not eat and get left behind. Got it?”

                The way he spoke was understanding but firm--basically Dean in a nutshell. You nodded and went to grab a bag of chips when Dean cut you off again.

                “More than that.”

                You sighed and rolled your eyes, turning back to look at him, “then what?”

                “I’ll pick it out.” Dean shook his head and grabbed a few things, then took your coffee and went to the register.

                When he came back and handed you your coffee, you looked up at him and gently put your hand on his chest. “You’re not gonna tell Sam, are you?”

                He sighed and watched you for a minute, then shook his head, “I won’t, but Sam’s not an idiot.”


	11. Queen - 1980

                Dean had driven to a large field, far off any main roads. It was about noon when he’d parked the Impala on a dirt path that lead to the clearing. He and Sam had started setting up targets while you leaned against the front of the Impala and ate the food Dean had picked out for you. Once they had set up some empty bottles and cans, along with a few sheets of paper posted against a wooden stake in the ground, they returned to you.

                Dean grabbed one out of the back of the Impala and handed it over to you, grabbing your coffee. “Okay girlie,” he said as he took a sip of your coffee, “have you ever shot a gun before?”

                “Yeah, Dean,” you nodded and glared at him, “don’t call me girlie.”

                “Fine,” he smiled and handed the gun over, “show me how you load it.”

                He’d handed you a pistol and--while you didn’t know this specific model, you figured it out pretty quickly. Sam handed you the magazine and you got it in, then looked at Dean again.

                “Happy?”

                “I’d be happier if you’d shoot the targets.” Dean nodded towards the set up a few feet away.

                Even though you knew what he meant, you smirked, “at you?” You asked, pushing up off the Impala.

                “If you do you’re gonna be in a  _ lot _ of trouble.” Dean warned you as you stood far enough away from the wall of cans and bottles.

                “Kinky.” You grinned--trying to get yourself to steady as you looked at the targets.

                Sam smirked proudly--you could just tell. Dean coughed awkwardly and blushed--though the latter was barely noticeable.

                While you loved making Sam grin like that--you had to embarrass him just a little.

                “Sam might be kinkier though.” You glanced at the brothers, winking at Sam when his wide eyes met yours.

                Dean was about to say something when you shot at the bottles--missing only one of the four. Of the other three, one completely burst, the second just got the neck of the bottle, and the third you hadn’t hit--but it was knocked back by the momentum of the bullet and fell into the grass behind the cinderblocks they’d piled together. Sam went to check it out when you lowered the gun--and Dean could sense your tension.

                He looked over at you and met your eyes, giving you a silent nod that said you did fine. 

                “Try the cans now,” Sam nodded and stepped back--going over to where you were. He stood right behind you and steadied your shoulders, “you’re doing great, okay?”

                You nodded a little and tried to shoot the cans, hitting each of them as Sam stood behind you. 

                “Just relax, okay?” He soothed, angling your arms up just right, “you don’t have to be so stiff.”

                With Sam behind you, you calmed down and just focused--which lead to a pretty great row of shots. Two of the cans had fallen back, but you’d definitely shot them. Sam grinned and looked at you, “wanna go see how you did?”

                “Yeah,” you grinned and kissed him quick--then pulled him over to the cinder blocks that were set up.

                Sam picked up a can and examined it closely, slowly starting to smirk. He looked over at Dean and wiggled his eyebrows, “take a look at this.”

                The younger brother tossed it over, the older catching it skillfully. Dean looked it over and nodded slowly, “what about the others?”

                “They’re the same,” he grinned proudly, glancing at you with this  _ look _ \--something about it showed that he hadn’t had something to be this happy about in a while. And even though it was sad to think that--you were glad that he was smiling at least, even if it was over something as simple as your aim.

                “Alright.” Dean tossed the can to the side and stood up, “can you do the same with a bow and arrow?”

                “You guys use that?” You raised an eyebrow at Dean, not sure what to think.

                “Sometimes.” He shrugged, “we’re up against vampires, an--”

                “And bow and arrows kill them?” You cut Dean off, not appreciating the way he talked down to you. “I thought it was a wooden stake,” the last bit there was a joke; it seemed like it would piss Dean off if you said it.

                And boy were you right.

                “No, princess.” His tone had gotten firmer, which elicited a warm feeling in your core, “you dip them in dead man’s blood and shoot them--it hurts ‘em, but it doesn’t kill ‘em.”

                “Oh, and you just happen to have the blood of a dead man around?”

                Dean shot you a look and turned, going to the back of the Impala. He didn’t break eye contact with you as he opened up the trunk and grabbed an old mason jar, filled with a dark red color.

                “Never leave home without it.”

                The way he had said it was sad--there was some slight resentment between them. You had had a home. Dean and Sam’s home had gone up in flames--of course, you didn’t know that yet.

                Instead of making a comment, you shook your head, “I’m better with a knife. Can’t I just dip the blade in the blood and stab them with it?”

                Now it was Sam who looked at you--surprised that you’d been so blunt.

                “What?” You asked, feeling a blush come up onto your cheeks, “I didn’t come from some cushy, nuclear family life.”

                “As long as you don’t get bit, I’m fine with you using a knife.” Dean shrugged, not caring that Sam still looked at you like you’d just confessed to murder.

                “What kills them, though?” You glanced at Dean, taking Sam’s hand to hopefully get him to snap out of it.

                “Beheading.” Dean said simply, putting the container back before he closed the trunk.

                “Then let’s go kill those fuckers,” you looked back to Sam, who had lost some of the shock.

                “Not so fast, girlie,” his brother came back over, “we’ve got some planning to do before that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating in such a long time! School became very busy and I've been trying to plan out the plot--mostly because I started writing it in chunks and then actually turned it into chapters. There's a lot to come! I promise I won't stop writing!


	12. Van Morrison - 1970

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just letting you guys know that this is mostly smut but a little fluff!

                It’d been a few hours since you and the boys had been practicing everything you might need to know for the hunt. And even now, as you were laying on the bed of the motel, you kept thinking about when Dean called you princess.

                Sam seemed to notice the change--but he didn’t say anything about it. Instead, he set down the book he’d been trying to read and walked over to your bed, “what’re you thinking about?”

                “What?” You glanced up at him, biting your lip as you accidentally let your eyes trail over his body.

                “I asked you what you were thinking about.” He  _ definitely _ noticed and stepped closer.

                “I um--it’s nothing.” You shook your head and blushed even more, trying not to wiggle your hips as he moved. “Nothing.”

                Sam grinned and kneeled on the bed, “I don’t think it’s nothing, sweetheart.”

                The bed dipped under his weight, but you didn’t make a move; you were curious as to what he’d do, and there was an easy way to find out. “What do you think it is then?” You asked as you took one of his hands and placed it on your hip, letting him adjust so his hand was flush with your skin.

                When Sam didn’t say anything in response, you bit your lip and gave in to your hips--letting it be obvious that you were trying to create friction between your legs. Sam noticed instantly, his smirk getting flirtier by the second.

                “See something you like?” He asked jokingly, moving to lay next to you.

                “Maybe,” you shrugged and put your hand on his chest, gripping his shirt tightly.

                He hesitated for a moment, taking in the wide-eyed lustful look you were giving him. Finally, he moved in and kissed you hard; his hand moving from your hip to your waist. Every thought of Dean was now gone as you relished in the kiss--you could feel Sam holding back, when all you wanted was to let him take over. Slowly, Sam shifted so he was propping himself up on his knees to move over you.

                Even that simple move of dominance got you--and just when he had finally settled between your legs, you pulled back--still gripping his shirt tightly as you begged, “fuck me.”

                Sam looked surprised at how forward you were being, but it didn’t last long. Instead of kissing you again, Sam started trailing kisses down your neck, each one harder than the last. In his attempt to find the spot that made you a moaning mess, you grabbed one of his hands and moved it down just a bit past your hip.

                Suddenly, Sam bit down near your collarbone and your hips bucked up, his name falling from your lips like a curse.

                You could feel him smirk against your skin as he sucked on the spot, wanting to leave a mark that proved you were his. Sam tugged at your pants, pulling them down to your mid thigh--just enough to give him space to push your panties aside and rub his fingers against your core, earning a pornographic whine from you.

                In your desperate time for anything more than teasing, you took to tugging Sam’s pants off--fumbling with his belt as you attempted to get him naked. To your surprise, Sam grabbed your hands and pinned them above your head--still latched onto the same spot.

                “ _ Sam _ ,” you nearly cried, moving your hips up against his.

                He sat back on his heels and pulled his belt off, quickly and smoothly tying your wrists together.

                “You want me to fuck you, kitten?” Sam asked, his voice dropping to a low growl.

                “ _ Please _ ,” your hips bucked up against his, making him hiss.

                “Behave.” He warned, tugging your pants down the rest of the way.

                “B--But--”

                “ _ Behave. _ ” Sam repeated, digging his nails into your thighs and dragging them down.

                You nodded and squeezed your eyes shut, your hips shaking as you tried to stay still.

                He smirked and kissed you slowly, getting his pants off too as you tried to stay quiet, focusing on kissing him instead of anything else. Sam’s dominant facade disappeared and he pulled back--his eyes big.

                “We don’t uh--we don’t have any…”

                “I don’t care,” you shook your head--needing to feel him inside of you.

                “Are you sure?” Sam asked cautiously.

                “Fuck yeah I am.” You trailed your eyes down his body, biting your lip as he laughed breathlessly. A few seconds passed and then you spoke up again, “I--I wanna feel you against me.”

                He paused for a minute, considering what your were requesting before it clicked. Sam tugged your shirt up and undid your bra--too busy to notice how visible your bones were; he did the same with his shirt and kissed you again--pressing his chest against yours.

                Sam pushed your legs up a little so you could wrap your legs around his waist. Cautiously, Sam rocked his hips to yours, letting the tip of his cock push into your soaked entrance.

                A breathy moan escaped your lips as you wiggled your hips, allowing him more room to move.

                “ _ Fuck _ ,” Sam moaned quietly, pulling back just a little.

                “Wh--Um--Why are you moving away from me?” You asked Sam, pouting.

                “I just um--I just uh…” He blushed, “I wasn’t sure if you were ready…”

                “Of course I am,” your voice was soft as you reached out for him again, “I’m not gonna break if you touch me.”

                He seemed to consider the thought for a moment, then moved back over you and kissed you with a new kind of passion--one that was unfamiliar between you two. Desperate for that friction, you raised your hips to try and get him closer. That egged him on, and Sam grabbed your hips--pulling them flush with his as he slowly sank into your soaked cunt. While you’d had sex before, something about Sam was different.

                Compared to the other people you’d been with, Sam was well endowed; but he seemed scared of it. Like he knew he could hurt you--like he’d done it before.

                His movements were slow, which you were thankful for. It wasn’t just that he was longer and thicker than you’d expected, it was also because he seemed to move in this hesitant way--one that showed he hadn’t done much lately. It was like he was holding back more than his movements.

                You wanted him to be rougher, but you could see his frustrations through his rigid frame. In hopes to get him to relax, you reached up and kissed him--your hands moving to tangle in his hair. He rocked against your hips and pushed his dick further--rubbing against the spot that makes you shake like a leaf in the wind.

                Sam pressed kisses to your neck; his lips trailed over your pulse point, adding to your shudder. 

                “ _ Fuck _ ,” he said breathlessly, his shoulders shaking.

                “S--Sam,” you moaned softly as you wrapped your legs around his hips to push him in further.

                He nearly hissed at the movement and moved his hips faster; earning moans and whines from you whenever he left another mark on your neck or shoulders. Sam reached down and rubbed hard circles over your clit--making your back arch as he kept up with the relentless pace. Within minutes, you could feel yourself tense up as Sam continued to grind his hips against yours.

                In a moment of brief confidence, you reached up and kissed him slowly--getting his focus somewhere else for a few seconds before you flipped. Now, Sam was under you, his eyes wide as you adjusted to the new position; taking in the softness in his eyes that had returned. You smiled and kissed him softly, but lifted your hips and sunk back down hard and fast. He moaned against your lips--and just a few minutes later, you were both shaking and grasping at the sheets, coming at nearly the same time.

                You pulled back and laid next to him, your eyes fluttering shut as you shifted towards his heat.

                Sam wrapped his arms around you tightly and kissed your forehead, “get some rest.”

                “Okay,” you nodded and lightly traced on his chest until you fell asleep--feeling safer than you could’ve imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the kudos and comments! I don't plan on stopping this fic anytime soon. If there's anything you want to happen or anything you want me to go further into, let me know and I'll work on it!


	13. Dream Academy - 1985

                It was a Friday night when you were staking out the nest with Sam and Dean. Earlier, Sam had briefed you on what you should be doing and what to look out for. Dean had handed you a knife that had been dipped in dead man’s blood.

                A few miles from the nest, you had met up with the other hunters who would be helping you. One of them--a woman who looked old enough to be your mother--had brushed a handful of ashes over you; she said it would help cover your smell, and even though Dean rolled his eyes at it, he let her do it to him too.

                But now, you were kneeling next to the boys with another hunter--a young boy who shouldn’t be seeing a world like this. He didn’t seem scared, though; he acted as if this was a normal night for him, which made you feel worse.

                “We’ve gotta make our move soon,” Sam said quietly, glancing at Dean.

                “Just a second, Sammy.” He shook his head and watched the ruined house. 

                Inside, there seemed to be little movement, but Dean’s concentration said otherwise. You weren’t as scared as you thought you would be--it was a little nerve wracking, sure, but if something happened, you had Sam and Dean behind you. Something moved in the house and Dean got up, creeping quietly over to the house, Sam and the boy following his movements. A hard pounding started in your chest as you took the hint.

                They lead you into the house, taking cautious steps as they listened for the rattle of movement. Dean and the boy split--a silent agreement that they would split up, leaving you with Sam just incase anything happened. That pounding in your chest worsened as you took shaky steps through the house, looking around with wide eyes.

                The atmosphere changed in a second and you whipped around to find that Sam was gone--and you were all alone.

                Panic set in and you took a few steps back, trying to search for anyone you recognized--tears welling in your eyes. As you stumbled back, something hit you in the back of the head; then, everything went dark.


	14. Cat Stevens - 1970

                You woke up suddenly, a chain rattling above you. It only took a quick glance to see that your hands were tied together, and that you were hanging from a meat hook.

                “ _ Sam _ ?” You begged quietly, your eyelids drooping as you tried to look around for him. “ _ Dean? _ ”

                Even those two short names were wearing you out, and you fended off the tiredness that washed over you. Your right arm stung like it had been stepped on; and even though it took more energy than you had, you glanced up to notice that you had an IV poking out. All around the spot was bruising from previous attempts to get a vein. Just the sight of it was enough to make you want to throw up.

                “Oh, she’s up,” a girl’s voice said--light and joking.

                “Fuck. I thought I hit her hard enough to kill her.” A gruff voice said from behind you.

                “She was still breathing, idiot.” The girl said, rolling her eyes.

                You kept fighting your eyelids as the girl approached you.

                Her hair was a straight shot of ringlet curls that surrounded her face in an overwhelming way. She smelled like cheap vodka and dirt--and you didn’t want to know why you could pinpoint it so easily.

                “Awww, she’s struggling,” she hummed and cupped your face in her hands.

                “ _ Please _ ,” your voice became a whisper halfway through the word--just barely loud enough for the request to be audible.

                “Just go to sleep, blood bag,” she cooed, going to do something with the IV you were hooked up to.

                A sharp sting started again and you cried out, your voice breathless and raw. Laughter erupted from one of them--or maybe from another vampire somewhere else.

                “God she’s such a little bitch,” another woman mumbled and shuffled through the room.

                “Fuck--she tastes terrible too.” The curly girl said, ripping your IV out.

                Another cry tried to escape you, but it was useless. There was nothing left to use, and all you wanted was to crumple up and sleep.

                “We can’t just let her go.” The guy behind you said, pinching your sides.

                “Keep her around as a toy,” another man suggested, his voice softer than all the rest.

                “Just what I was thinking.” The one behind you tugged your jeans down, and his hand was travelling quickly back up your thighs.

                All of a sudden, you felt warmth behind you--like you’d just gotten a warm shower or some shit. You either passed out or gave in to your exhaustion. There was a flurry of movement around you, which you assumed meant that the vampires were lining up to fuck you.

                But within moments, a strong arm wrapped around your middle and lifted you from the meat hook and carried you out--which was the last thing you remembered.


	15. Paul Thorn - 2002

                “I should’ve been there,” Sam’s voice was heavy as he spoke.

                “You were busy. It’s not a big deal,” Dean rolled his eyes and crumpled something up.

                “It  _ is _ a big deal, though,” the sadness in Sam’s voice worsened by the second.

                In the backseat, your head pounded like a drum. When you tried to open your eyes, you found that one of them was swollen shut, and the other was just barely open enough to notice that you were in the Impala. You tried to find your voice, but were at a loss. There was nothing you could do--you were in pain, and you just wanted to go back to the motel.

                “I’m supposed to be here for her, Dean, how could I let her get captured like that?”

                “You didn’t know.”

                “But I should’ve.”

                “How could you, Sammy? It’s not like you knew that the vampires would pull a stunt like that.” Dean scoffed and started up the engine, giving the car a soft shake as he started to drive.

                “I had a bad feeling e--”

                “Bad feeling this, bad feeling that.” Dean said sharply, glancing over at his brother, “she’s research only from now on.”

                “But--Dean--she just needs more training, that’s all.” Sam tried to defend you--the thought of leaving you behind on hunts made his head hurt.

                “No. This was close enough.”

                “What’re you so scared of, Dean?”

                “Leave it.” Dean’s voice was warning--the tone harsher than usual.

                “No. Just tell me wh--”

                “ _ Leave it! _ ” He shouted, making your ears ring as silence washed over the two of them. “Just leave it.”


	16. The Beatles - 1969

                It’d been almost a month since that first hunt.

                Since then, Dean had made a point of locking you into the motel room when there were new leads. Sometimes Sam convinced him to go alone, giving you and Sam some alone time; generally spent trying to learn as much as you could about new lore and legends. He’d taught you the best way to find information--which turned out to be going to the library and any local oddities in town; most frequently, someone who looks too old for their age, someone desperate for answers, someone who’s reached the end of the road.

                Up until this point, you hadn’t considered yourself lucky--or, at least, very lucky. Luck had struck you when you met Sam and Dean just over a year ago. Other than that, you never thought you’d had such a privileged life. But as you went and interviewed people, you saw this new kind of pain that had never existed to you before. These people were at their wits end; continually denying their belief in the unknown. Even if they saw a ghost evaporate in front of them--they still didn’t believe it.

                You were always baffled by their ignorance.

                The worst part of all was seeing the kids who were affected by these monsters. Something in it struck a hard chord deep inside of you, and the rare few times you  _ were _ allowed to go with Sam and Dean, it was always the cases with children. Early on, the boys had realized you were softly affectionate with those who had been through the tracks of life that no one should see.

                It hadn’t happened on purpose, actually. Dean had caught you trying to sneak out of the motel room, and decided that if you weren’t going to stay and behave, you were gonna come with so you were supervised. The drive to that house stuck with you more than you liked to admit. 

                There wasn’t anything particularly spectacular about the one story ranch--it was shabby, just like the rest of the houses on the street. Yet, there was something upsetting about the house. Dean said you were just being sensitive--that all the houses were off--you’d get used to it. Sam’s reaction was different. He could see how intensely you were watching it and knew you were thinking. You didn’t even know what you were thinking.

                You knew something was wrong.

                As the three of you approached the house, that feeling had grown worse--driving you into a possessively protective mode. A teenage boy opened the door, he looked too tired and too wise to be only sixteen. Sam and Dean had sat him down to ask questions, carefully explaining the situation to him.

                You hadn’t exactly been poking through the house--there was nothing to try and find. The things you were supposed to look for weren’t there, but you could  _ feel _ it.

                Only fifteen minutes had passed before you noticed a closet door cracked open. While this should’ve been a warning, or something to at least tell one of the boys about, you didn’t think twice as you made your move. Slowly, you pulled the door open and saw a little boy curled up with his eyes squeezed shut. He had these deep bags under his eyes, the battle wounds of fighting off sleep.

                He hadn’t looked up when you opened the door, though he had tensed up.

                “Hi sweetie,” you spoke softly, kneeling down next to him.

                Still nothing.

                “What’s your name?”

                While he didn’t cringe or move away from you, his shoulders were tightly held--enough to make him start shaking.

                You sat down and pulled your legs up to your chest, resting your head on your knees. “It’s okay if you don’t wanna talk. I don’t like talking most of the time.” From where you were, you could see that the closet had jacks, marbles, and other little things scattered all over. “When I was little I didn’t talk a lot, but I liked it when my oldest brother would talk to me. He’d tell me these stories about people who had nicer lives than us--how we could be them one day.” 

                The little boy seemed to relax in the slightest as you spoke.

                “He promised that when he moved out, he’d take me with him. He was gonna get a big apartment in the city and work whatever jobs he needed so we’d be happy.” Carefully, you shifted closer to him--he didn’t move away. “And whenever I’d get upset, he’d hug me and promise me that things were gonna get better. He was always kind of like a dad to me.”

                Neither of you said anything for a while--the silence hung heavy. Finally, there was a quiet sob and the little boy was roughly rubbing his eyes.

                “Sweetie, what’s going on?” You asked as you put a hand on his back.

                Still nothing, but he had started crying harder--breaking your heart more than you could have ever expected it to. As he cried, the little boy got up and sat on your lap, wrapping his arms and legs around you. You sniffed too--hating that you knew how he felt. Less than three minutes passed before Sam popped into the room, looking at you in confusion.

                “Where’d she..?” Dean came up behind him, freezing when he saw you interlocked with the child.

                “Sweetie is it okay if I carry you out to the living room?” You asked him quietly, playing with his hair.

                He nodded and held onto you tighter, just so he knew he wouldn’t fall. Carefully, you got up and carried him out to the living room--Sam and Dean following behind in shock.

                “Woah--you… You got him..” His older brother glanced from him to you--shocked.

                “I’m sorry for everything you’ve been through,” you smiled a little, holding him tighter.

                “What? Oh… It’s fine. You get used to it,” the older boy’s gaze had dropped to the ground, showing that it was still a sensitive subject for him. 

                “That doesn’t mean you deserved it,” you went over to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

                The way Sam and Dean were looking at you made you feel like you were crazy--but within seconds, the second boy was crying too--his whole body shaking as you kept him close too.

                That hunt was something other than the usual salt n’ burn. There was more of an emotional connection that Sam and Dean hadn’t expected you to provide. After that, you were allowed to come on cases that included children who had been hurt or had been through too much for their age.

                Sam always made you feel appreciated, Dean always made you feel protected.

                You were glad to have them on your side.


	17. Blue Öyster Cult - 1976

                You had to admit it--living on the road with Sam and Dean was turning out to be the best thing that had ever happened to you. For the first time in your entire life, you felt alive. Things were a little scary sometimes--but it beat the kind of fear you used to feel.  _ And _ , you had Sam. No matter how hurt he or Dean got, Sam always reassured you that it’d be fine--it would all go away and tomorrow’s another day. Your interaction on the hunts became less and less, which was a little sad because it meant seeing the boys less, but you were grateful for the peace and quiet--free from their occasional bickering.

                Except today.

                Today, you were out on a hunt with them--Dean was cryptically quiet, though he occasionally cracked a joke to break the heavy silence. As you drove to the apartment complex, anxiety settled deep into your chest; something Sam could sense.

                He took your hand and pressed a kiss to the inside of your wrist, casting a kind smile back over his shoulder--hoping you knew it’d be okay.

                In attempts to calm yourself, you busied your other hand by playing with Sam’s hair, thankful for the soft gesture.

                The rest of the ride was silent--no jokes, no kisses--just you playing with Sam’s hair as Dean drove down the long stretch of road.


	18. Simon & Garfunkel - 1966

                The fight was futile--a few malevolent spirits were casting their fair share of stones as you, Sam, and Dean searched for their bodies.

                “Dean, I’m telling you!” You heard Sam shout from the other room, “they’re in the walls!”

                “Prove it!” Dean shouted as he sliced through an apparition with an iron poker.

                You groaned in frustration, hating that Dean had isolated you to a circle of salt after you tripped up the stairs as you escaped a chair that crashed into the wall.

                Sam grunted and there was a hollow sound--he’d punched the wall and instantly started groaning in disgust.

                “Didn’t think that through, huh?” Dean glanced at his brother, who had just managed to punch the wall  _ right _ where a few organs were stashed.

                “Shut up--we’ve gotta burn it.” Sam said quickly, patting himself down for a lighter.

                “(y/n)’s got it!” Dean shouted as he ducked--narrowly missing a few killer pieces of cutlery that flew through the air.

                You perked up at the mention of your name and stepped out of the salt circle.

                Which turned out to be a big mistake.

                Suddenly, you were knocked back onto the ground--your head slamming back into the hardwood. You felt a hand on one of your ankles as you were suddenly dragged across the room--let go mid pull so you crashed into a counter--a sharp crack audible.

                “(y/n)!” Sam shouted, looking at you with big eyes as he rushed over.

                “S--Sam..” You shook your head and tried to get up, not wanting to admit defeat of any kind.

                Before he could reach you, Sam flew back against the wall--a loud thud ringing in your ears.

                “Shit,” he hissed as he tried to fight whatever was holding him there.

                You managed to get up, and as you tried to walk over to him, there was another loud snap, and you fell back to the ground.

                “Don’t move!” Sam choked out, looking at you with his puppy eyes--you were hurt. That much was obvious. But Sam could see more than you could feel, and he didn’t want it to get any worse.

                Dean rushed out of the other room and saw you both, “(y/n)! The lighter!”

                You wriggled around and got the lighter out of your pocket, quickly tossing it over to him. It landed a few feet from him; a new pressure was felt on your side and it was  _ bad _ . A cry escaped your lips as you tried to curl up in an attempt to stop the pain.

                “Stay still!” Dean shouted and grabbed the lighter from the ground, running back into the room he’d just come out of.

                In a sudden burst, Sam dropped from the wall and scrambled over to you--an overwhelming heat radiated through the apartment as he scooped you up. Tears ran down your cheeks as you focused on anything but the pain.

                You couldn’t remember most of the ride back to the motel. There was a lot of talking and both Sam and Dean kept tapping your face to keep you awake. One of them carried you into the motel and set you on the bed. You kept dozing off until you felt something cold on your forehead. Slowly, your eyes fluttered open to see Dean looking down at you, holding an ice pack to your forehead as he gently played with your hair.

                Pain still radiated through you, but you were done crying about it--especially since Sam and Dean weren’t in an adrenaline rush and they’d actually notice. 

                “You doin’ okay, princess?” Dean asked--the worry visible in his eyes.

                “I’m fine,” you croaked out, nodding--which made your head sting as you fought off a cry.

                He watched you carefully--knowing you were lying, but not about to push you to say it.

                You broke your ankle,” Sam mentioned as he wrapped it up tightly in strips of cloth.

                “Okay,” you shrugged and rubbed your eyes--all of it causing you pain, but you were flat; not about to show any of it.

                “And you hit your head, so we need you to stay awake for a couple hours.” Dean added, glancing at his brother.

                “Fine by me,” you nodded and moved to sit up.

                “Woah, woah, woah--be careful.” Sam warned.

                “I’m fine,” you repeated as you propped yourself up with a few pillows.

                Neither of them said anything--mostly because Dean wanted to yell and tell you that you weren’t fine, and Sam wanted to try and calmly explain it to you.

                That’s how the night went. You kept yourself awake by pinching the top of your thighs--the one place that wasn’t completely numbed by the whiskey you’d stolen from Dean. Sam stayed close, his arm wrapped around you protectively; and Dean, sitting on the other bed as he waited till you two would have a moment alone.


	19. Foreigner - 1984

                “I told you  _ not  _ to step out of there.” Dean said firmly, looking at you seriously.

                “I only did because I heard my name,” you tried to argue, knowing Dean’s point was a bit more valid than yours.

                “Unless you want Sam to figure this out quicker, you have to follow instructions.” He shook his head and glanced at the bathroom door, knowing Sam stood a few feet away in the shower.

                “I don’t understand why you guys don’t just ditch me already,” you muttered, looking down at your bruised hands.

                “Because we care too damn much, alright?” Dean sounded like he was pretending to be sugar-sweet, though he really did care. “We’ve saved your ass. It’s not like we’re about to toss it to the side because you get beat up.

                “It’d be easier.”

                “That’s not the point.”

                “You’re not even denying it.”

                “Why don’t you just leave me here?”

                “We’re not going to.”

                Dean wanted that to be the final word. His jaw clenched tight after that--a sign that he wasn’t gonna fight you further. But something was lit inside of you now, and you weren’t gonna give in.

                “Just drop me already! Everyone else has! You’ve said it before--Sam doesn’t know what the hell he’s feeling.” You sat up, cringing at the pain that you felt--giving in because Sam wasn’t sitting next to you. “You’ve told me about Jess. He’s probably just projecting onto me. Right? And--And that’s dangerous for you! For both of you! What if I got kidnapped or--or killed or something? It’d be easier to just lea--”

                “Stop it!” Dean shouted--making a ringing start in your ears.

                Silence settled between you two; heavy and painful.

                “Sam loves you. Okay?”

                If the air hadn’t been choking you before, it definitely was now.

                “I’ve seen him like this just a handful of times, but--that’s definitely it.”

                Still, you didn’t speak. Your eyes were fixed on your hands, a painful pressure on your chest as minute started to pass.

                “(y/n)?” Sam asked as he came out of the bathroom while he pulled his shirt on, “Dean? What's going on?”


	20. The Beatles - 1969

Dean had sent Sam out to get food, and even though he didn’t wanna leave you two alone, he reluctantly agreed and left.

                “How do you know that he loves me?”

                “Are you kidding?” Dean laughed softly, “that kid could be looking at our dead mother risen from the grave and he wouldn’t give her much of a glance with you there.”

                You were silent as Dean’s words resonated with you. You loved Sam too--only now realizing it. But even if he hadn’t told you, you could’ve come to that conclusion yourself.

                “How do you feel about me?” You asked, glancing up at him.

                “That doesn’t matter,” Dean tried to push it off as he shook his head.

                “Yes it does.” You nodded, pushing a little harder than usual.

                He clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut, suppressing whatever he wanted to say. For some reason, though, that pissed you off.

                “I swear to god, Dean. I’m asking how you feel and you won’t even let me in for a fucking moment t--”

                “I don’t know what it is yet.” He snapped, cutting you off.

                Silence spread thickly between you two. There wasn’t a clear explanation for what that meant. You hoped it was good.

                “Do you like me?”

                “Sometimes it feels more than just liking.” He confessed, his eyes fixed on his hands.

                “That’s usually love, Dean.” You pointed out, trying to be gentle.

                “Like I said--I don’t know.” Dean pushed off of bed and shook his head, going over to the bathroom to avoid talking to you.

                What he didn’t expect was to come back and find you still perched, thinking everything and anything over. “I need more of an answer.” You looked up at him, meeting his surprised gaze. “You can’t just say shit like that and leave it there.”

                “But that’s just it.” He shrugged, sighing and getting himself a drink.

                “There’s more though--and don’t try to escape this with some cheap alcohol.” You tried to get up and walk over to him, making him drop the bottle as he rushed to keep you still on the bed. “If you don’t tell me, I’m leaving.”

                “You can’t leave.”

                “Watch me.”

                Dean looked down at you like he was pissed--but at the same time, it was like he wanted to scream out in sadness or frustration. “I don’t know how I feel.”

                “So do something about it.”

                And he did.

                In a swift movement, Dean cupped your face in his hands and kissed you intensely. Your heart pounded in your chest as you tried to not react; everything inside was swelling up and you wanted to pull back and slap him--tell him that you loved Sam and only Sam. But there was a twinge in your chest that held you still. He pulled back slowly, his eyes wide in shock at his own movements.

                You wanted to make some sassy remark--something snippy that would make him huff or blush. But instead, you felt your chest tighten and your eyes squeeze shut in frustration; everything was even more confusing now. But you decided on a question--one simple question.

                “So?”

                “I don’t know,” Dean sighed and sat on the other bed, putting his head in his hands.

                The pain in your chest rose and it got the better of you--tears started rolling down your cheeks.

                “Shit--no--hey, I--I didn’t mean it like that.” Dean tried to soothe you, but not wanting to touch you just in case.

                You shook your head and used the most prominent thing at that moment as your excuse, “I’m just in so much pain, Dean.”

                “Wh--? Oh--oh, yeah, cause you should be resting..” Dean went to adjust your pillows and blankets. He got you pretty tucked in and comfortable, then asked, “do you need anything else?”

                “Yeah,” you spoke softly as you hiccupped--letting months of fighting tears show. He looked at you like you’d tell him, but instead, you carefully patted the spot next to you, “please stay.”

                Dean looked so surprised--he hesitated for a moment before he sat next to you, and slowly shifted when you shook your head. “What do you want me to do?”

                “Cuddle,” you tried to move your arm, but winced and gasped a little at the pain, which made Dean quickly move to cuddle next to you. He wrapped a careful arm around you and pulled you against his chest.


	21. The Animals - 1965

                Months passed.

                You and Dean rarely stayed alone together, just out of discomfort and awkward situations. Sam had caught on to know that something had happened between the two of you, but he didn’t ask. He didn’t wanna know.

                On yet another hunt, Sam and Dean had bickered about leaving you behind, but since this spirit was malevolent, they were scared of it coming to attack you. And that’s how you found yourself creeping through an abandoned house. These past few months had been hard--you were getting better with eating, due to Sam who constantly pushed it. But you were still having difficulties, ones that Sam would ask you about and double check you for; it was nice, definitely, though a little annoying at times.

                These things distracted you as you turned the corner, scanning the living room before you went to search for the object that the spirit was attached to. But suddenly, the room started spinning, and you stopped in your tracks.

                “(y/n)?” Sam asked as he searched the room too.

                “Yeah?” You respond tiredly--not realizing how you sounded.

                “Go and wait in the Impala.” He commanded, glancing back at you.

                “No--Sam--I’m  _ fine _ .” You shook your head--but something about you had caught his attention. “What?” You asked, watching his hazel eyes examine you.

                “You need to go out to the Impala.” Sam glanced around and took your gun from you--quickly tossing it to Dean, who had been passing by. “I’m taking her out.”

                “Wh--” Dean started to ask, but when he looked at you--for the first time in what felt like months--he got the same look that Sam had. “Make her eat and drink something.”

                “Planned to.” Sam’s strong arm wrapped around your shoulder--but you pushed him off of you.

                “Sam, I said I’m fi--” Just as you were about to finish your sentence, your knees gave out; sending you tumbling towards the ground.

                The last thing you remembered was both of the boys shouting your name as you collapsed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since it's been 20 chapters, I'm going to post the songs so far down here! This doesn't include CH 21 though.
> 
> Horse With No Name - America  
> Don’t Try Suicide - Queen  
> Hey Jude - The Beatles  
> Time of the Season - The Zombies  
> Papa Duke and The Mud People - The Subdudes  
> California Dreamin’ - The Mamas and The Papas (1966)  
> House of the Rising Sun - The Animals (1964)  
> Heat of the Moment - Asia (1982)  
> Teacher - Jethro Tull (1970)  
> Nothing is Easy - Jethro Tull (1969)  
> Another One Bites the Dust - Queen (1980)  
> Moondance - Van Morrison (1970)  
> Life In a Northern Town - Dream Academy (1985)  
> Wild World - Cat Stevens (1970)  
> Angel Too Soon - Paul Thorn (2002)  
> Oh! Darling - The Beatles (1969)  
> (Don’t Fear) The Reaper - Blue Oyster Cult (1976)  
> I Am a Rock - Simon & Garfunkel (1966)  
> I Wanna Know What Love Is - Foreigner (1984)  
> I Want You (She’s So Heavy) - The Beatles (1969)


	22. Journey - 1981

You woke up in the back of the Impala--neither Sam, nor Dean were in the front seat. The car was parked outside of what seemed to be a pharmacy--although you weren’t really sure, because your vision was blurred from whatever had happened. There was a sharp sting on the left side of your head, making you cringe with every move. Less than a minute after you waking up, Dean and Sam’s familiar bickering ringed out.

                “She’s not okay, Dean--you saw how she looked.”

                “I’m not saying she’s okay--I’m saying that she will be.”

                “Well yeah--and I’m not denying that. I’m just… She doesn’t pass out.”

                “No one just  _ passes out _ .” 

                “I know that. And we’re gonna figure it out. I’m worried about her though--I don’t wanna find her nearly dead because something got to her and she couldn’t fight back.”

                “Nothing got to her, Sammy.”

                “You don’t know tha--”

                “ _ Nothing. Got. To. Her. _ ” Dean enunciated, you could hear the pissed off ring in his voice.

                “Then we’re gonna take her to the doctor.” Sam concluded.

                “When?”

                “Now.”

                “She has to be conscious--at least, she should be.”

                At that point, you groaned loudly--though it sounded like a cry.

                “(y/n)...” Sam spoke softly as he rushed to the side of the Impala you were curled up in. “Hey baby,” his voice was still light and gentle as he opened the door, “you feeling okay?”

                You shook your head and reached up, taking his hand.

                “Okay--it’s okay, we’re gonna get you to the hospital.” Sam glanced back at Dean and got in the car, pulling you onto his lap.

                Dean got into the front and drove you to an urgent care, letting Sam take you inside. While he filled out paperwork, you kept nodding off, only to jolt awake at nothing. The sting in your head was lessening, but still great. When the nurse came to get you, Sam held you up--helping you walk.

                The nurse rattled through things you didn’t hear, but Sam was avidly paying attention to her, answering questions--as many as he could.

                “Okay, we’re gonna get you into some x-rays. No metal--so take off any jewelry--you don’t have any metal replacements in you, so that’s good… And no chance you’re pregnant?”

                Sam didn’t answer, unsure, since you two never really used condoms, and till now, there hadn’t been any problem.

                “Um--I don’t know,” you managed, squeezing your eyes shut.

                “Okay, well, we’ll have you take a test. I’ll go get a cup and leave it in the bathroom for you, okay?”

                “Okay.” You nodded, feeling Sam press a kiss to the side of your head.

                A few minutes later, you peed in a cup and were curled up on the examination table, holding Sam’s hand as you fought sleep.

                “Why am I so tired?” You asked softly, rubbing your eyes with your free hand.

                “You fell down pretty hard,” Sam answered, “and you look really sick, babe…”

                “I wanna throw up,” your voice was weak as you hid your face in your arm, sighing shakily.

                “If you need to just let me know,” he played with your hair, watching you with worry.

                A few minutes later, the doctor walked in, holding a chart.

                “No x-ray?” Sam asked, the apprehension in his voice rising.

                “No x-ray--but congrats! You’re gonna be parents!” She smiled, tapping her fingers against the clipboard in her hands. 


	23. The Band - 1968

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!
> 
> So I've come to realize that I've been writing this as a way to process a lot of things I've gone through and dealt with, as well as things I'm currently dealing with (sorry for being sappy).
> 
> Hope you're enjoying it! Let me know if there's anything you want me to go further into/are looking forward to!
> 
> P.S. look for the reference I threw in there.

                “What do you mean she’s pregnant?” Dean asked, his hands splayed out against the table.

                “I’m right here.” You snapped, glaring at him.

                “Calm down, princess.” He rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

                “Hey--what the hell’s gotten between you two?” Sam asked, “you’ve been acting weird for  _ months _ .”

                “Maybe it’s Captain Pregnancy Hormones.” Dean sarcastically suggested, though you both knew it was something else entirely.

                “Shut up!” You weren’t feeling it, and had stood up, your hands slamming down on the table.

                “Woah--woah, okay, okay, we’re gonna calm down,” Sam gently tugged you down and wrapped his arm around you, “take a deep breath…”

                “He’s an asshole,” you mumbled softly, nuzzling into Sam’s side.

                “ _ I’m _ the asshole?” Dean scoffed, rolling his eyes.

                “Dean, stop,” Sam’s voice was calm as he scolded his brother, “don’t make it worse.”

                He sighed and threw his napkin over his half eaten food and shook his head, “fine--so, what? We ditch the kid here an--”

                “We’re not getting rid of it,” it was Sam who snapped this time, bringing up a decision you two hadn’t discussed.

                In all honesty, you were terrified to have a kid. You feared becoming your parents--it didn’t matter which, they were both horrible. So far you had evaded drug abuse, unlike your father at this point; and you weren’t a partying monster like your mother. At least you had that going for you.

                You were snapped out of your thoughts when Dean’s voice softened, “Sammy, you know this isn’t a life to raise children in.”

                “Unless you do it right.” Sam corrected.

                “What do you know about doing it right?” Dean narrowed his eyes, shaking his head.

                “I’ve got you, don’t I?” He asked Dean--making him stop dead in his tracks.

                Silence washed over the three of you; Sam and Dean were having a stare down, while you felt sick, and just wanted to sleep.

                “Face it, Dean, whether you like it or not, dad was a shitty parent.” Sam laid it out simply, “and when he was around it was training to be a soldier.  _ You  _ raised me. And you did a damn fine job as far as I’m concerned.”

                “Sammy, that’s--”

                “No. You don’t get to deny it.” Sam shook his head and pulled you closer, “you made sure I was dressed every day and that I got into bed safely. You made sure I brushed my teeth and made me food--you did a better job than dad  _ ever _ could. Even with mom around.”

_ That _ made Dean stop completely. His gaze had softened, though still hard and calculating as he thought. After a few minutes, he nodded a couple of times, tossed some money down on the counter, and got up.

                “Let’s go,” he tugged his jacket on and offered you his hand.

                Reluctantly, you took it, and pulled yourself up. The small gesture made your chest tighten, and once you were up, you wrapped your arms around him and squeezed him tight.

                “Thank you,” your voice was soft as you spoke--just barely audible as you fought back tears of exhaustion and hormones.

                “Anytime, princess.” Dean nodded a bit and gave you a quick hug before letting Sam pull you to his side.

                The ride back to the motel was quiet, which you were thankful for as it gave you a peaceful time to rest. Once the neon  _ ‘VACANCY’  _ light came into view, Dean glanced back at you and Sam and smirked a bit.

                “I say you name the kid Zeppelin.”


	24. The Animals - 1965

                Two weeks later you were sitting in a hospital room with Sam and Dean, who were both sitting there uncomfortably--well, Dean was more uncomfortable than Sam was. 

                “I don’t see why I gotta be here,” Dean mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

                “You’re the uncle, don’t you wanna see your niece or nephew?” Sam asked, surprised by his brother’s attitude.

                “Not yet,” he huffed, looking at the plastic baby that rested in a plastic womb.

                You kept staring at the poster of a woman holding her baby. It progressed through the weeks of pregnancy and how you’d look, ending with a woman, cradling a small infant in her arms. Pressure built in your chest as you felt Sam stare at you.

                “(y/n)?” Sam asked cautiously, but you didn’t hear it.

                All you could hear was your mother’s berating and beating down--the insults she called you--the constant abuse you faced. It was all rushing back to you. Apparently, Sam had been calling your name for a few minutes, because your attention was brought to Dean, who had laid you back and was pressing a cold towel against your head.

                “What happened?” You asked softly, suddenly feeling the blood drain from your face and the room spin.

                “Sammy,” Dean’s voice was calm, and fairly muffled as you blinked slowly.

                Your head lulled back, but Dean tapped your face lightly, getting the wash cloth wet again. “C’mon, princess, stay with me.”

                “Dean, what’s--” You tried to ask, but found that your throat was too dry.

                “Hey--” He shook his head and glanced at the door in frustration, his jaw clenching when he heard something that was muffled for you. When Dean saw you starting to go again, he started to sing  _ Hey Jude _ . 

                It held you there for a minute or two, but you finally gave into the tired anxiety that was plaguing you ever since you found out about the baby.


	25. Crosby, Stills, & Nash - 1969

                A few hours later you were suddenly up, shaking just a little as you looked around--realizing you were in the hospital.

                Sam looked up at you and instantly took your hand, “(y/n)--finally.”

                “What do you mean, finally?” You asked, your eyes growing wide as you realized there was an IV in the back of your hand.

                “You passed out at the clinic,” he spoke softly, squeezing your hands.

                “I  _ what _ ?”

                “They wanna keep you for observation,” Sam spoke shakily, he was more worried than you’d ever seen him.

                “Why?” You asked desperately, hating that you were being told what was going on but not what happened.

                “You passed out,” Dean laid it out. “You haven’t been eating the past few days, huh?”

                “Wh--Um--I’ve just felt so sick, and--”

                “You  _ can’t _ do that anymore.” Sam shook his head, “you  _ have _ to eat--the baby needs it. The baby needs you to be healthy.”

                “ _ You _ need to be healthy,” Dean corrected Sam, shaking his head. “There’s two people, not just one, Sammy.”

                “Okay, but we can make her eat for her, we can’t make h--”

                “We can’t make her eat. We have to try and help.”

                The boys went on like this for a few minutes--tears welled in your eyes and spilled down your cheeks, your chest tightened again, but in a different way. 

                “I don’t even want the baby!” You shouted painfully, your voice scratchy as your body shuddered with the cry. 

                Both of them stopped shouting at each other and looked at you with wide eyes.

                “You didn’t even ask if I wanted it, Sam,” you were weak now--the cry taking much more out of you than you thought. “But--you just--you assumed. You assumed I wanted it and that I wasn’t scared and that’s not true, Sam!”

                Tears started to roll more fluidly and your throat closed as you tried to choke back your cries.

                “I’m scared! I--I can’t be a mother! My mom was  _ so _ shitty and--and I’m probably gonna be shitty too!” The panic in your stomach was rising and you felt like each nurse and doctor that walked by stopped in just to see the screaming pregnant girl. “I don’t know how to be a mom! Thi--This kid’s gonna hate me! They’re gonna hate me and leave like I did! I can’t do that, Sam--I can’t do that, Sammy.”

                Your tears got the best of you and suddenly you were racked with sobs. Sam looked shocked--sitting back in his seat, and Dean made some noise that sounded disapproving. You felt strong arms around you, then realized that Dean was hugging you. Several minutes passed, just full of your cries--until Sam spoke up.

                “We don’t have to have it if you don’t want to.”

                “Sam, it’s not you having it--” Dean tried to defend you.

                “No.” You cut him off, “we’re gonna have it cause you want it, Sam.” Shakily, you reached out and took his hand, “but--no more assuming. Okay? I--I’m terrified and I can’t--I just can’t handle that anymore.”

                He nodded a little and rested his head against your bed, letting you play with his hair.

                “I’m sorry.”


	26. Nine Inch Nails - 1994

                You were kept in the hospital for a few days, till they had gotten you to eat a comfortable amount of food. A doctor had given Sam and Dean a list of foods you needed to eat and what to avoid, as well as vitamins and supplements you’d need just in case you weren’t getting enough from the food they would now be forcing you to eat.

                It’d been a few weeks since then, and Sam was a helicopter--rarely leaving you alone, especially when you looked uncomfortable. It was driving you crazy, and you two started to bicker all the time.

                “Give me a reason to stay behind,” you challenged, eyebrows narrowed at the giant Winchester who towered over you.

                “You’re pregnant.” He spoke firmly, crossing his arms over his chest.

                “A better reason.” You shook your head and lightly pushed past him, grabbing one of the weapon bags.

                “You’re. Pregnant.” Sam snatched it from you and tossed the bag back on the bed. “That’s a good enough reason.”

                Dean sighed in frustration--not finding your fighting amusing anymore. 

                “I wanna go!” You almost shouted, turning on your heel to look at him.

                “Not if you’re acting like a child!” Sam countered.

                “Yeah? I’m the child? Who’s kept their girlfriend pent up for the past month and a half cause she’s fucking knocked up?” You asked bluntly, pushing against him.

                “Yeah. You are.” Sam shook his head and turned away from you.

                Dean groaned and slammed his hand down on the table--his ring clanking loudly against the wood. 

                “Neither of you are going.” Dean decided, getting up and grabbing the bags before either of you could.

                “Wait--what?” Sam asked, his eyes getting puppy like.

                “You guys are having problems, I need a break, and there’s a hunt to go on. You two,” he pointed between you and Sam and patted the bed, “talk it out or whatever feely crap you gotta do to get back to being disgustingly sweet.”

                “I don’t wanna talk to him,” you glared at Sam, huffing as you tugged your jacket off.

                “Well too bad, princess, you’re gonna.” Dean shook his head and grabbed the Impala keys. “Sit. Talk.”

                He slammed the door behind him as he walked out, leaving a heavy silence between you two.

                Nothing was said for what felt like an hour, but finally you groaned.

                “I don’t wanna talk to you.” You shook your head and curled up on the bed, feeling sadder now than before.

                “We need to, though,” Sam sighed and turned to you, “we’re gonna be parenting together, we need to learn to push past this.”

                You knew he was right, but you were still upset about it.

                “Fine.” You muttered and turned to look at him, still curled up.

                “Can you say more than fine?”

                “Can you apologize?”

                “For what?” Sam scoffed, shaking his head.

                “For treating me like a child!” You sprung up, slamming your hands down on the bed. “I’m having your fucking kid, treat me like an adult!”

                Sam seemed to consider it for a few minutes, making you start to blush.

                “You wanna be treated like an adult?” Sam asked, turning to look at you, “cause you are having my baby. And you  _ should _ be acting like an adult, but you’re not.”

                “Yes. I. Am.”

                “You want me to treat you like an adult?” Sam asked again, huffing a little.

                “Yeah. I fucking dare you to.” Your gaze was fixed on him, not thinking he’d do a single thing about it.

                But you were suddenly pushed down against the bed with your hands pinned above your head. Sam straddled you, his hips pinning yours down as he clenched his jaw.

                “Wh--wait--what?” Your voice was soft, suddenly losing all of your confidence and spark.

                “You’ve got a minute to get undressed or you get punished.” Sam watched your eyes for a few seconds before he pulled away and tugged his shirt off.

                “Really?” You asked breathlessly, still feeling like you were pinned down.

                “Get. Undressed. Now.” He repeated angrily, his eyes dark with lust.

                You didn’t have to be told again--quickly, you tugged your clothes off and threw them to the side, leaving your bra and panties on.

                “All the way undressed,” Sam narrowed his eyes.

                “No.” You challenged--purposely misbehaving to see what he’d do.

                He clenched his jaw again and yanked you to the foot of the bed, tearing your bra and panties off. Your breath quickened as you looked up at him, your hips wiggling in anticipation as he looked you over with this hungry and aching lust in his eyes.

                “What’re you gonna do now, Sammy?” You taunted, liking that he was suddenly rough.

                With a smirk, Sam flipped you over and pressed his hand to your back, holding you down on the bed as he lifted your hips with his other hand. There was no denying it--what Sam was doing got you riled up quicker than ever.

                “You’re gonna start listening to me, (y/n).” Sam basically demanded as he tugged his boxers down. “I’m done with you misbehaving and arguing. You’re gonna start listening.” He punctuated his words by pushing a finger into your dripping heat, “and you’re gonna start doing what I say.”

                Your hips shook a little as he fucked into you, eliciting soft whimpers and pleas for more.

                “You’re gonna have my baby, so you’re gonna do what I tell you-- _ especially _ when it’s for  _ both _ of your safety.” He added another finger, moving slowly as he knew he was putting you through agony. “I don’t want to treat you like a kid, but you give me no choice sometimes.”

                “S--Sam,” you begged, pushing your hips back to make his fingers sink further into you.

                “No.” He warned, abruptly pulling his fingers out to slap your ass. “You’re gonna listen to me, (y/n). Got it?”

                You whimpered and nodded, savouring the sting you felt on your side from him.

                “Good.” Sam pushed his fingers in again, making you whine louder, “when I tell you to do things, it’s for your safety. It’s for the baby’s safety. So you’re both healthy and okay.” He pushed a little harder, your hips stuttering when he rubbed against your g-spot. “You’re gonna start doing what I say now, okay?”

                At this point, all you wanted was for him to fuck you, so you nodded in agreement. “Okay--okay. I’ll--I’ll do what you say--just  _ please _ fuck me, Sam.”

                “Beg for it.” Sam smirked, moving over you to press kisses to your shoulders.

                “ _ Please _ , baby,  _ please _ fuck me.” Your voice was breathless, practically a whisper as you refrained from moving your hips too much.

                “You’ll behave?”

                “I promise!” You squeaked, your eyes squeezing shut.

                “Good.” He repeated and pushed his dick into your pussy, rocking his hips slowly at first--adding to the agony you felt earlier when he had been teasing you.

                “ _ Harder _ ,” you pouted, feeling him hesitate for a moment when he heard your request.

                It was almost like Sam took that as a challenge--suddenly his hips snapped against yours, going at a relentless pace. You squeaked in surprise, pushing back against him as he put both hands on your hips, pulling you back as hard as he could. He dug his nails in and dragged them down, leaving long scratches that prickled with blood in some spots. When you gasped at that feeling, Sam pulled back and flipped you over, pushing you up the bed as he quickly moved to kneel between your legs.

                “You like that, kitten?” Sam nearly purred as he fucked into you again.

                “Y--Yes,” you nodded and tangled your hands in his hair, tugging lightly as you rocked your hips up to his. 

                He smirked and kissed along your jaw, waiting till he felt you tremble as his lips brushed against your pulse point--then bit down  _ hard _ . You gasped louder and yanked on Sam’s hair, grinding against his hips as he bucked into you.

                “F--Fuck--fuck me--fuck me.” You begged, your hips shaking as you got close to coming.

                Sam smirked against your skin and bit harder, sucking a dark spot there as he fucked you harder and harder, till you were a shaking and whining mess.

                Even after you came, Sam still grinded against you, letting your hips move against his in the aftershock of your orgasm. Something about that must’ve gotten him, because within minutes he was muttering your name as he came, his shoulders shaking just as bad as yours had.


	27. Extreme - 1990

                Another morning greeted you with nausea. You didn’t throw up--you couldn’t--but all you ever felt was like you were on the brink of being sick. And despite Sam and Dean’s protests, you would push them to go out and do whatever they needed. Sam was treating you better, letting you come with to little things--meeting other hunters, research trips, shopping, that sort of thing.

                You sat up in bed and whimpered softly, putting your head in your hands as you tried to fight back the dizziness that plagued you.

                “(y/n)?” Sam asked tiredly, shifting around in bed, “what’s wrong?”

                “I wanna throw up,” you squeezed your eyes shut, sniffing as you fought off tears of exhaustion.

                “Oh..” He sighed and sat up, gently pulling you over onto his lap.

                “What’s going on?” Dean asked--still half asleep as he shifted to see you two.

                “Can you get some water and a cold washcloth?” Sam glanced at his brother as he played with your hair.

                “Yeah,” he sighed and got up, going to get what Sam had requested--along with some crackers and your pile of vitamins and supplements.

                “Thank you,” Sam mumbled as he took everything from his older brother.

                You felt Dean gently pull your hair back and tie it up, used to helping Sam out like this. Your eyes fluttered open as you felt Sam press the washcloth to your forehead--instantly feeling the relief from the heat that had started to reside within your chest since a few weeks ago.

                “Thank you,” your voice was weak as you reached back to gently touch Dean’s hand, knowing he’d get grossed out if you tried to hug him or anything (he always thought you were gonna throw up). 

                “Yeah,” he nodded and went back to his bed.

                Sam made you eat a few crackers and drink some water before he had you take all of your pills.

                While it didn’t make you feel great, it made you feel a little better. Apparently, though, your expression said otherwise, and Sam seemed slightly panicked as he picked you up and carried you into the bathroom, setting you down in the tub as he started to run you a bath.

                “What?” You asked softly, blinking a few times.

                “You’re getting really pale,” he mumbled as he tugged your now wet clothes off. “Dean--can you get one of the apples?”

                “I really don’t wanna eat, babe,” you shook your head, “it’ll make me throw up.”

                “Then you’re gonna throw up,” he met your eyes and held your gaze, “I need you to do this for me.”

                You couldn’t argue with that--so you sighed and accepted the apple that Dean handed you.

                “Need anything else, Sammy?” He asked, rubbing his eyes.

                “No,” he shook his head.

                “Great,” Dean yawned, “I’ll make the coffee.”

                You took small bites, slowly feel better as Sam washed your hair. It was obvious that he was doing it because he wanted to be close, and not because he had thought it through. He ran his hands down your sides and let you stay in there, leaning against the bathtub wall as he woke up.

                “Sorry…” You mumbled softly as you ate, glancing down at the slight bump you had growing.

                “It’s okay,” Sam shook his head, “you ate last night and nausea is apart of this.”

                “Go back to sleep, sweetheart,” you hushed him, sitting up a bit to kiss his forehead.

                “I’m fine,” he sighed and opened his eyes, smiling a little at you. “Are you feeling better?”

                “Yeah,” you smiled and nodded, “are you guys going out today for research?”

                “Dean is,” Sam nodded a little, “I’m gonna look for new cases and we’re gonna get some books, okay?”

                “What books?” You asked, figuring he had a list of important volumes for the case.

                “Baby books,” he kissed your cheek.

                “Oh,” you blinked in surprise--having forgot that those would be more important than the old newspapers you usually sifted through for research.

                “Mhm,” Sam nodded and rested his head on his knees, watching you for a few minutes before he asked, “names. Any right away?”

                “I don’t think so,” you shook your head and finished off your apple, “you?”

                “None besides Dean’s suggestion,” he laughed softly, “we’ll get a book of names today, okay?”

                “Sounds good,” you smiled and kissed him, resting your hand along his jaw.

                Sam smiled against your lips and kissed you softly, holding it for a few seconds before he pulled back and got up, grabbing you a towel.

                A few minutes later, you were out of the bathtub and wrapped up, sitting on the bathroom counter as Sam kissed along your jaw. Absentmindedly, you played with his hair, shifting your hips as he rested his hands on your waist. By accident, you moved in a way that pulled down your towel, making Sam smirk against your skin. He slowly started to kiss down--making you blush bright red as your hips more noticeably shifted around, laughing softly as he nipped and sucked little love bites everywhere.

                Soon enough the towel was discarded and Sam was kissing down your chest, pausing when he reached your bump--running his hands over it lightly.

                “I love you,” Sam spoke softly, glancing up at you.

                Even though you were naked and riled up, this moment made you tear up a little. His firm hands pressed against the small being inside of you and you nodded a little, “I love you too.”

                He grinned cutely and pressed a few kisses to your bump before moving to kiss your hips and the insides of your thighs--your hands flying to his hair when he moved to the apex of your thighs and started making you whimper.

                A little while later, you and Sam were at a local bookstore--Dean chatted up the cashier as you flipped through the standard baby books. Sam seemed to know what he was looking for, while you just picked the ones with interesting covers. The only thing he didn’t grab was name books, which you took the initiative on. As he searched the stacks, you sat on a little stool and flipped through the book.

                “We could name it Mark,” you offered, reading over the meaning, “aw--or Marco.”

                “Marco Winchester?” Sam raised an eyebrow, glancing back at you, “sounds like a surfer kid mixed with a country boy.”

                You grinned at Sam’s subtle slip of his last name and nodded in agreement, “that’s true.”

                He walked around after that, grabbing a few magazines that seemed pertinent to having a baby, you still listed off name suggestions.

                “Noah?” You asked, still fixed on boy names.

                “Too biblical,” Sam shook his head, “why aren’t you looking at girl names?”

                “I don’t know,” you shrugged, “I have a feeling it’s a boy.” 

                “This early?”

                “I can’t really tell at all--I just keep picturing a boy,” you laughed, shaking your head.

                “Well, I’m seeing a girl,” Sam shrugged, wrapping his arm around your waist.

                “Okay,” you handed him the book, “pick out a girl name you like.”

                Sam handed you his stack and flipped through it for a few minutes, finally closing it and taking the stack back. “I’ve got a few ideas.”

                He went and paid for the books, you trailing behind as Dean proudly waved the number of the cashier in your face, making you laugh and shove him lightly.

                “I swear, I can’t take you guys anywhere.” Sam shook his head as he took the bag of books, laughing a bit.

                “You love me, though,” you grinned cutely--loving when he said it to you.

                “I do love you,” Sam nodded and kissed your cheek, “c’mon, we’ve got work to do.”


	28. Rick Springfield - 1981

                Weeks almost seemed to drag on for months. You steadily kept growing--much to your dismay.

                You hated seeing yourself grow and gain weight, no matter how much the boys reassured you that you looked good.

                Another morning came with you staring in the mirror. You’d always assumed that your bump would be pretty round--but you were looking at a curiously shaped bump that was attached to you. Sam kept saying that you were fine, and that you didn’t need to worry.

                But Sam doesn’t get that  _ everything _ is making you worried and anxious. So much so that it makes you throw up--and unfortunately, Sam thought you were doing on purpose. No matter how much you protested his claims. You were--literally--worried sick.

                “(y/n)?” Dean asked, standing outside the door.

                “Oh! Um--hold on!” You spoke quickly as you pulled your bra on and opened the door--you were already wearing leggings.

                “Oh--I didn’t realize…” Dean trailed off--trying to avert his gaze.

                “Dean, it’s fine.” You reassured him, “you’ve walked in on Sam and I enough times…”

                Your eyes had gone back to the mirror, where you watched yourself and fought off negative thoughts.

                “You okay?” Dean asked, grabbing his toothbrush.

                “Yeah--I’m just…” You sighed softly and smoothed your hand over your bump.

                Dean stayed quiet while he brushed his teeth, watching you carefully.

                “You look great.” He finally said, spitting out the toothpaste.

                “You’re just saying that.” You disregarded him, shaking your head.

                “(y/n), how often do I lie about a lady and her looks?”

                “Sometimes.”

                He narrowed his eyes for a second, then smirked a little, shaking his head. “Okay--but I’m not lying right now.”

                You rolled your eyes and went to walk out--but Dean gently grabbed your hand.

                “I’m not lying. You’re like--a fuckin’ goddess or something. You’re creating a life and your body’s showing it.” Dean nodded, looking you in the eye. “You look beautiful. If you weren’t with Sammy…”

                You rose an eyebrow and stepped closer, “if I weren’t with him..?”

                “I’d wanna be with you.” Dean finished, “pregnant or not.”

                “Really?” You asked, tears welling in your eyes--the emotional part of your pregnancy kicking in.

                “Definitely.” He smiled and pulled you in for a hug.

                “Thank you,” you mumbled softly as you kissed his cheeks.

                “Anytime princess,” he grinned and messed your hair up.

                “Dean!” You groaned and pouted, “rude. I wouldn’t mess up your hair.”

                “Like you’d even try.” Dean taunted.

                “Oh shut up,” you rolled your eyes and shoved him lightly.

                “What was that?” He smirked, grabbing you by your waist to pull you closer.

                “Let me go,” you whined, giggling a little.

                “Make me,” Dean laughed and pulled you up against him.

                “Dean!” You laughed and lightly beat his chest with your hands--and suddenly, you were pressed against his chest, looking up at him with huge eyes. “D--Dean..”

                His eyes darted around your face, and a blush crept up, settling on your cheeks. Your breath was caught in your throat and you nodded a little bit, finding that your eyes were looking between his and his lips.

                “Um--” He sighed and shook his head, stepping back reluctantly.

                “It’s fine.” You shook your head and pulled one of Sam’s old shirts on, walking out of the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Sorry it's been so long, I was in Arizona for four days and I started a new semester. 
> 
> I'm at a point with the story where it could go two ways, and I need your input! Either, I can write it how I originally wanted with Soulless!Sam, who comes around during this time, and the reader starts a relationship with Dean (Sam does come back though). Or, we can keep up with mostly fluff, a little smut, and a little angst like we have been so far.
> 
> Personally, I like the first option, but I wanna hear your opinions! So please let me know!
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	29. Journey - 1983

                “Names.” Sam said as he set the book down next to you, “I’ve got a list.”

                “Can I see them?” You asked, sitting up a bit so you could comfortably read.

                Sam handed the list to you, an evenly split piece of paper with boy and girl names on each side.

                “Joshua?” You raised an eyebrow as you looked up at him.

                “They’re suggestions,” Sam blushed a little as he sat on your other side, his arm wrapping around you.

                “I like Silas,” you smiled a bit as you read through the list. “And Wyatt.”

                “What about that one?” Sam pointed to the name Aristotle.

                “I think he’d get made fun of in school,” you nodded.

                But your comment had brought up a good question-- _ where _ would he be going to school? You and Sam were silent, thinking about the life you could provide. Of course, you thought that living on the road wasn’t too bad, and that you could homeschool him. Sam, on the other hand, was thinking of something much more dreamlike. He pictured a house with a pickup truck outside, a yard for the kids to run around in with the dog.

                “We’re gonna get a house and everything, right?” He asked, biting his lip.

                “Why would we do that?” You asked, moving a bit to look at him, “wouldn’t we stay on the road with Dean?”

                “Well maybe he’d settle down too,” Sam shrugged, “find himself a girl and get a job as a mechanic.”

                “Sam--no matter how much you want that, you’re not gonna be able to escape this.” You gestured to the room, setting down the list. “I mean--you can’t just give this up with how much you know about it--how many people you’ve saved.”

                “How many people I’ve hurt.”

                “Don’t you dare.”

                “What? It’s true--I don’t just save people, (y/n)--a lot of people get hurt in the process.”

                “Okay, but say five people get hurt out of twenty--those other fifteen, you saved.” You tried to point out, turning to face him.”

                Sam sighed and thought about it, “this isn’t a life to raise a kid in though.”

                “I’d rather raise him in this life than the one I knew.” You put your hand against his chest--needing to have some connection. “I learned about a different kind of monster, and I don’t want those to be the first ones he learns about. Okay?”

                “But--”

                “No.” You said firmly, watching his eyes. “This is my kid too, and just because you say something doesn’t make it law. We’re gonna talk about it more. But--not right now. We’ve gotta look at names.”

                Sam didn’t say anything, the two of you just stared at each other for a few minutes before he kissed you lightly, then grabbed his list again and held it so you could see it. “What about girl names?”

                You scanned the sheet, figuring you would find the one that you had been hoping for. “Why isn’t Mary on the list?”

                “What?”

                “Your mom’s name--Mary.” You looked at him, “I kind of thought that would be nice…”

                “Oh--I mean--I didn’t wanna push you to think about that, I guess.” Sam blushed a little and played with his hands.

                “Middle name?”

                He blinked and looked up at you, smiling pretty cutely, “middle name.”

                “Good.” You smiled and kissed him once more before you cuddled into his chest, “I like Violet.”

                “What about Holly?” He asked, playing with your hair.

                “I like that too,” you nodded, “heh--we could nickname her Voodoo.”

                “Are you kidding?” Sam groaned, shaking his head, “I’ve got enough of that in this line of work.”

                “I know, that’s why it’s funny.” You grinned and kissed his cheeks, “it’s just a suggestion.”

                “We’re gonna think of a better one,” he laughed and kissed your forehead.

                “What about Wednesday?”

                “Like the Addams family?”

                 "Exactly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the input from the last chapter!


	30. Blue Oyster Cult - 1977

                You hadn’t seen it coming.

                In a million years you couldn’t have seen it coming.

                Sam and Dean had been secretly working on a project that you never-- _ ever _ knew about. And you couldn’t get the day out of your head. Sam and Dean had left, Sam was definitely reluctant--not wanting to leave you alone. But you had pushed his worry off--thinking that he and Dean were going on a simple salt n’ burn.

                But days passed without hearing anything, and the fifth day, you couldn’t stop your thoughts from roaming--he was dead. Definitely. That’s--that’s the only reasonable thing, right? That or he just left--that’s why they took so many bags, right?

                Right?

                Your worries had been dashed when the door to the motel opened, and you sat up--a huge grin on your face.

                But you weren’t greeted by the swift wrap of huge arms around you--instead, you faced a red-eyed Dean, who kept repeating: “I tried to save him. I’m sorry.”

                It took three minutes for you to realize what he was saying. To know that Sam wasn’t going to walk through that door with some cheesy greeting. To realize that you had lost him.

                The bags Dean had been carrying clattered to the ground as everything moved in slow motion--your knees giving out as you grabbed your stomach, tears pouring down your cheeks as you felt your heart crack. Dean caught you in his arms and lifted you on the bed--which is when you tugged him with you and straddled him, firmly pressing your lips to his--needing some kind of contact.

                Your cries kept overwhelming you, and you had to pull back and rest your head on his chest more than once. Dean ran his hands through your hair--trying anything to calm you down now. Weakly, you beat your hands against his chest--nothing that would ever hurt him. He played with your hair and squeezed his eyes shut.

_ “I’m sorry _ . _ ”  _ It echoed out around you--the words had no meaning anymore. Dean’s chest rose and fell unevenly; but each time you looked at him, his face as blurring out--just like the edges of your vision. You didn’t know how much time had passed before you gave out--your body unable to keep up with the crushing feeling that pounded against your chest.

                You kept mumbling something--what it was? You had no idea. But it was enough to make Dean cup your face in his hands and snarl,  _ “don’t you fucking dare.” _

                That stuck--the one short sentence that was provoked by your hummed over words. It felt like forever until your breathing simmered down enough to be bearable. Your lungs stung with the sharp breaths that came from your ragged tears. Dean held you close, his hand pressing to your back, your now-present bump pressed into his stomach, which seemed to make the moment all that much sadder.

                At some point, your voice came back--and though it was broken and weak, you begged, “fuck me.”

                Dean squeezed his eyes shut and pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead, which made your eyes water.

                “Get some sleep, sweetheart.”


	31. Journey - 1986

                “Say something,” Dean begged you from behind as you stayed curled up in your little ball. “Say anything.”

                You hadn’t spoken in three days, and the silence was driving Dean crazy. Since it had happened, Dean had changed things--he took you to the first motel he found in the phone book and booked over a week’s stay. And even though the process of packing everything up and leaving, you didn’t say a damn thing. It’s not like you were trying to make Dean feel bad--cause really, you weren’t. It’s that nothing seemed important enough to say. Everything you did made Dean apologize--and you were getting pretty sick of hearing it.

                Dean was taking a break for hunting, apparently he was gonna look for a way to get Sam back. Your faith was pretty much shot in the stomach, and you couldn’t just sit around. Instead of living out of duffle bags and backpacks, you were set on making the motel feel a little more grounded. But so far, you were struggling to get out of bed. Dean’s chest was pressed against your back, taking deep breaths as he smoothed his hand over your bump.

                “C’mon,” he pleaded desperately, “I’m sorr--”

                “I swear to god if you say ‘sorry’ one more time, I’m gonna kick you in the dick!” You shouted, your voice scratchy and barely there, but your words were definitely strong enough to crack down on some of that.

                He didn’t speak for a moment, and then laughed a little, “you’re gonna kick me in the dick?”

                “Shut up.”

                “You could’ve said ‘kick you in the nuts’--but you went straight for the dick.”

                Dean was trying to lighten this up--lighten the situation that took away your boyfriend--but it was only making you angrier. In a sudden (and surprising) turn of events, you rolled over and straddled him, grabbing onto his wrists and holding them at your side. His eyes were wide as they looked up at you--usually, Dean was in charge in this situation, but he didn’t hold a candle to you now.

                “Your dick is good for one thing and one thing only: fucking me. But you won’t because you think I’m asking because I’m sad.” You sounded stronger with each word, only faltering a little every now and then. “But I’m not. That’s not why I want you to fuck me. Since the first time you called me fucking ‘princess’ I haven’t been able to get you out of my head. I love Sam, but I still think about it. And that time you fucking kissed me--I can’t get the feeling of your goddamn lips out of my head!” Tears were starting to overwhelm you again, but these were angry--angry at the world for taking him away, angry at yourself for not making him stay, angry that you didn’t know if he’d ever come back. “And then when I ask you--practically  _ beg _ you--you say it’s not a good idea because I’m grieving.”

                Your breathing had become ragged as you started to shout, “but fuck that! I’m  _ mad _ , Dean. I’m not sad. I want you to fuck me against this bed and against the shower wall and make me scream!” Your hands had moved to grip his shirt--somehow pulling him up enough to be more level with you, “because the one  _ fucking _ thing I can think about right now is him walking through the door! So, I’m fucking asking one more time for you to fuck me, and get that goddamn image out of my head!”

                The two of you were stared for a moment--your shoulders shaking, and Dean’s eyes darting around your face. And in some unspoken language, he kissed you. You yanked him up further and ripped his shirt off--throwing it to the side like a piece of garbage. He pressed one hand to your back--making it so you were pressed against him. With the other hand, he managed to shimmy off his pajama pants and boxers. Somehow, you pushed against him and got enough room to tear off your tank top.

                Dean pushed aside your panties and you grabbed his cock, just barely able to touch your fingertips with your thumb. You gave him a gentle squeeze and then two pumps--making him moan in anticipation. Quickly, you shifted over him and sank down onto his length, your hips bucking against his right away, the feeling of him inside you was all at once overwhelming and not enough. Before you knew it, your hands were laced through his hair and pulling harder than you ever had with Sam--Dean was making you whine like you never had before as he rocked his hips against yours.

                Obscenities and praises tumbled out of your mouth like a waterfall; Dean suddenly grabbed your hips and pulled you down against him, your legs shaking as you adjusted to the new sensation that came over you. 

                “You better stop saying all of those nasty words, princess.” Dean scolded as he thrusted up into you.

                “Fuck. You.” You snapped, dragging your nails down his chest in a long motion.

                He hissed and yanked your head back, exposing your neck. “You’re gonna pay for that,” Dean mumbled as he found your pulse point--something he’d seem plenty of times thanks to Sam leaving behind hickeys. 

                You inhaled sharply and dug your nails in harder--clenching his dick in your pussy as your eyes fluttered shut, “ _ fuck, _ sweetheart..” You panted out, pressing yourself against his chest.

                Dean flipped the two of you so you were pinned down to the mattress, his hips moving slower as he ran his thumbs over the apex of your thighs, making you shudder and try to push against him. He tsked and grabbed your hips again--starting up a relentless pace that had you both coming within minutes. 

                He slowed his hips down and moaned softly as you moved to lay next to him--curling into his chest.

                “You okay?” Dean asked, running his hands through your hair.

                “Yeah--it’s just been a while.” You nodded and pressed kisses to his chest.

                The two of you laid there for what felt like the rest of the day--wrapped up in each others arms as you tried to to get Sam out of your head.


	32. Billy Joel - 1973

                “So where does this leave us?” Dean asked you for the fifth time that day as he leaned against the counter of the bathroom.

                “Wherever you want it to,” you shrug, wiping your mouth as you stood back up--while it wasn’t something that happened all the time, you were throwing up maybe twice a week.

                “That’s not a fair answer,” he groaned, handing you water, “cause where I want it to take us isn’t where you want to take us.”

                “You don’t know that.”

                “Really?”

                “Really.”

“Prove it.” Dean challenged.

                “You wanna be together, right?” You asked, swishing the water around your mouth.

                “Yeah.”

                “Then we’re together,” you said simply after you spit the water out. 

                “So.. You’re just gonna forget Sam like that?” Dean asked, a little surprised.

                “I’m not gonna forget him.” You shook your head as you set the cup down, “I’m having his baby, Dean. You don’t just forget that person overnight.”

                “Well it kinda--”

                “You can’t have it both ways.” You snapped as you walked out of the bathroom.

                It’d been almost a month since Sam hadn’t come back, which meant you and Dean became closer and basically turned into a couple. But neither of you had ever said that, and now he wanted some reassurance.

                “I just think it’s a little odd--”

                “Can we please not analyze it?” You asked, looking back at him with big eyes as you pouted a little, “I don’t want today to be shitty. We’ve got an appointment and then an interview.”

                “I still don’t want you to come on it.”

                “And I still wish you would drop it.”

                He stared at you for a minute before he sighed, “fine. I’ll leave it alone.” 

                “Thank you.”

                The two of you got ready in silence--though for Dean, it took less than three minutes. You were struggling to zip your pants up--a lame attempt at making your jeans last you longer.

                “Wear these,” Dean held out a pair of his sweat pants to you, “you’ll be more comfortable.”

                Hesitating for a moment, you gave in and took them; sliding into them with ease. Dean took your hand and pulled you out to the Impala--the silence still heavy as you drove to the doctor’s office.

                Things were pretty smooth--your vitals and the baby’s were good, nothing seemed to be wrong with your development. But when the ultrasound started, and you saw the little figure that was your baby appear on the screen, you started to break. Dean was seated at your side, staring at the little blob that wiggled around. There was still silence--even the tech had picked up on it; but a minute or two in and you let out a sob--effectively scaring the shit out of Dean, who instantly grabbed your hand.

                “What’s wrong?” He asked, his eyes big.

                “I--I--Sam should be h--here,” you choked out, hiding your face in his chest.

                Dean mumbled something to the technician about the father being gone* (* _ dead _ ) and tangled his hand in your hair, trying to be soothing. 

                About twenty minutes later, you were back in the Impala, sniffling as Dean pulled into a convenience store parking lot.

                “Do you wanna come inside too?” Dean asked, running his hand through your hair.

                “Yeah,” you nodded, rubbing your eyes.

                He sighed and pressed a kiss to your forehead, letting you calm down all the way before you both shuffled out. Inside, the two of you separated, grabbing the things you both wanted as well as a few things you knew the other would too. And you were just about to reach Dean when you saw Sam, standing at the checkout, flirting with the cashier.


	33. The Who - 1971

                “Sam,” you breathed softly as you felt your arms start to shake.

                Either you were loud enough for him to hear or he could sense your presence, because just in time, Sam looked over to meet your gaze. Something about this made you feel sick--as if you weren’t staring at your thought-to-be-dead boyfriend, but instead, a horrible omen of death. Your legs started to give way--every muscle in your body demanded to fall and start sobbing, but Dean caught you as you nearly plummeted to the ground. 

                “Woah, baby girl what’s--” Dean started to ask, but he looked up and saw Sam too. “Oh.”

                Sam’s eyes were different.

                More than different--they were terrifying. Right away you knew it wasn’t him living inside of that body. Maybe somewhere deep down he was still in there, but whatever was at the surface level  _ wasn’t _ Sam. Dean didn’t seem to pick up on it. 

                “Hey Sammy,” he laughed happily, grinning a little as he helped hold you up.

                “Uh, hi,” Sam nodded and waved a little.

                You dropped what you were holding and stormed out, hands shaking as you went out to the Impala and doubled over, throwing up more than you had in your entire pregnancy.

                Dean rushed out after you, calling your name as he watched you with big eyes. “(Y/N)!”

                Leaning against the Impala, you held your stomach as you dry-heaved until you started crying.

                “Baby,” he spoke gently, pulling you up to look at him, “what’s wrong?”

                “I--I have to leave.” You shook your head and started to cry harder, “we have to go.”

                “What do you mean?” Dean asked, pushing your hair out of your face, “babe, it’s just Sam.”

                And speak of the devil, he walked out of the store.

                “Uh…” Sam hummed, looking at you with a raised eyebrow.

                “You’re not Sam!” You shouted, pressure dropping onto your chest.

                “Not as you know him.” Sam shrugged and took a sip of the water he’d gotten.

                “Wait--what?” Dean asked, glancing back at him.

                Sam opened his mouth to say something, but then nodded a little and shrugged, “I’m not the Sam you know.” 


	34. Jethro Tull - 1969

                The three of you had gotten lunch--which involved a worried waitress, who saw how uncomfortable you were with the large man who sat across from you. Dean had his arm around you protectively, asking Sam all the questions he needed to before he shook his head and told him to come with.

                You were back in the motel soon, Dean and Sam were packing up everything as they talked about going to Bobby’s. While you were uncomfortable, you managed to stay silent--not wanting to give Sam a single glance or even a thought. 

                Sam went all too willingly, the drive uncomfortable and silent besides some light chatter between Sam and Dean. You sat in the back, writing down names and crossing them out--writing and re-writing names as you tried to think of what sounded good. It calmed you down for the most part, enough to make you trust Sam enough to take some food from him. Hours passed before you pulled into a junkyard that gave you the creeps.

                Somewhere in the middle of the cars was a house with a man standing outside, his arms crossed and a sour look on his face. The three of you got out--he greeted Dean with a hug, Sam with a handshake, and you with a questioning look.

                “Who’s she?”

                “My girlfriend,” Dean nodded a little, biting his lip, “hunter-in-training.”

                “Don’t tell me that’s your kid.” Bobby narrowed his eyes.

                “Well, uh… That’s…” Dean tried to think of something.

                “I’ll explain later,” you spoke softly, looking at Bobby with big eyes as you held your hand out, “(y/n).”

                “It’s good to meet you, (y/n),” he nodded and shook your hand, scanning your face for a hint or a sign that you weren’t okay.

                “Let’s get you inside,” Dean nodded and gently tugged you into the house.

                You let him pull you and quietly went up to the room he directed you to. Dean went to talk to Sam and Bobby, and you sat on the edge of the bed, your head in your hands as you quietly sobbed.

                The past few hours had been wildly upsetting and taxing, and you couldn’t handle it anymore. It felt like forever that you were alone, though you didn’t mind it exactly. After a bit, a hand was put on your shoulder and you looked up--expecting to see Dean or Sam, but finding Bobby instead. 

                “What’s going on, kid?” He asked as he moved your bag and sat next to you.

                “It’s--it’s nothing,” you shook your head and wiped your eyes, sniffing.

                “You’ve been cryin’ since you got here, somethin’s wrong.”

                And in a moment, you were telling Bobby how you met Sam and Dean and every moment up until then. You talked about your fears as a mother and how you were scared to be your parents--who had abused you both physically and emotionally your entire life. Once you had stopped (and were a complete mess of tears), Bobby wrapped his arm around you and held you close.

                “You’re gonna be a fine mom,” Bobby nodded, “you know what not to do, and that’s what’s important.”

                You shook your head and curled into him, continuing to cry as he told you everything you needed to hear.

                Once you were calmed down enough, you rubbed your eyes and nodded a little, “thank you.”

                “Anytime, kid,” he smiled a little and gave you a final squeeze, “now c’mon downstairs and let’s get you and that baby some food.”


	35. Tracy Chapman - 1988

 

                “How’re we gonna get him back?” Dean’s voice was hushed as he spoke with Bobby downstairs.

                He thought you had been asleep when he got up to go and talk, but you were wide awake--listening to every word they spoke. Your door was open just a crack as you listened to the soft hum of the radio Dean had left on. The salvage yard was pretty peaceful, and you felt more at home than ever.

                Bobby had taken a liking to you--he was like the father you never had--the father you always deserved. Dean was trying his hardest, and Sam still avoided you.

                That is, until you turned around.

                Sam stood in the doorway of the room, watching you with his blank eyes.

                You jumped--startled by his sudden appearance.

                “What the  _ fuck _ ,” you hissed, sitting up as you quickly rubbed your eyes.

                The blankets fell down around your bump, which had grown at least two inches since you arrived a few weeks ago.

                “How is it?” Sam asked, his voice quieter than it had been since he got back.

                “How’s what?” You rolled your eyes--knowing what he was talking about, but needing him to refer to the baby as something other than ‘it’.

                “The kid.”

                “He’s fine,” you nodded a little and smoothed the blankets out around your legs, your eyes fixed on the wall in front of you.

                “It’s not a boy.”

                “Oh like you’d know,” you looked at him and huffed, “you don’t care about the baby anymore--you don’t care about  _ anything _ .”

                “That’s a lie.” Sam shrugged and slowly sauntered over to you, “I do care about things.”

                “Yeah? Like what?”

                “I feel responsible for you and the kid.” Sam sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes narrowed at you.

                “Really?” You asked, your voice sharp.

                “Yeah. It’s annoying.” Sam sighed and shrugged, leaning back on Dean’s pillow, “I don’t really care about you guys, but if something happens to you I feel it in my chest.”

                “Yeah, your fucking soul is trying to get out,” you shook your head, saying it because it was the only thing that made sense.

                “Maybe.” He shrugged again, leaning closer to you.

                You didn’t say a word--you just stared at Sam as he got closer to you.

                “How do you feel about me?” Sam asked, glancing between your eyes.

                “I--I don’t know.” You blushed lightly, just realizing that you were barely an inch away from Sam’s lips. 

                “Yes you do.”

                “Fine. So what? It’s not like I can just give up on you. It’s not like I can stop loving you.” You snapped, feeling your eyes prickle with tears.

                “But you think I don’t care about you,” Sam challenged.

                “That doesn’t matter!” You sniffed, “I still love you, Sam. Just because you went and lost your goddamn soul doesn’t mean I can just turn off what I feel!”

                “Even if you think I hate you?” He raised an eyebrow--honestly surprised by you.

                You nodded and put your hand against his chest--wishing it felt warm and full like it used to. But instead, you were pressing against a cold and almost heartless person. Sam gently pulled you closer and kissed you--everything you used to have was gone.

                It didn’t feel the same.

                “Get out!” You shouted and pushed him off of you, just in time for Dean to walk in and notice that you were angry, and that Sam was still as much of a rock as ever. 

                “Sam, leave her alone.” Dean scowled and yanked his younger brother out of the room, “I’ll be right back.”

                Dean closed the door behind him and Sam--making you angrier than before.

                You felt like he was treating you as if you needed to be taped in bubble wrap. It made your heart race, and you suddenly were up--grabbing the Impala’s keys and a blanket. You took the stairs two at a time as you rushed down the stairs, passing Sam, Dean, and Bobby who were in his office.

                “(Y/N)?” Dean asked as he let go of his brother and followed you. “Babe, what’re you doing?”

                “I’m going on a drive.” You said flatly and yanked your shoes on.

                “What? No. No--you’re going back to bed.” Dean tried to pull you back up, but you weren’t having it.

                You roughly pulled yourself away from him and stormed out the door--hearing the crunch of three sets of steps follow you as you fumbled with the keys to the Impala.

                “You’re not going anywhere,” Dean warned as he got closer.

                “Watch me.” You finally got the door open and got in, locking the doors right away.

                “Dean, just let her be,” Bobby tried to pull him back.

                “No! I know what you’re gonna do if you leave!”

                That was the last thing you needed to hear.

                You started laughing sarcastically, looking out the window at Dean with tears in your eyes. “If I do, you’ll miss your car more than you’ll miss me.”

                With that, you drove off--tears rolling down your cheeks as you drove down the gravel road. You wouldn’t be gone long--and hell, you weren’t even gonna do anything. You just needed a break from being trapped inside, and if Dean couldn’t see that, then tough shit. In the dark, the road stretched on forever, letting you cry for as long as you needed.

                There was no denying it--you still felt something for Sam, and that was probably the worst part. You couldn’t act like there was nothing. No matter how lifeless Sam was,  _ your _ Sam was still somewhere down in there. At least that’s what you hoped.

                And you did love Dean--there was no question about that. You loved him just as much as you loved Sam. There was no doubting that.

                As you drove down the highway, you heard a flutter--something that sounded like a bird had gotten into the car. You turned to look and nearly jumped out of your skin when you saw a man sitting next to you.

                “Goddamn it!”

                “You and Dean respond similarly to my presence,” the man nodded, “I’m Castiel. A counterpart of the Winchesters.”

                You stared at him with big eyes, only looking back at the road when he simply said, “deer.”

                “So--so--so what? Are you like a genie or something? A phantom?” You asked quickly, glancing at him.

                “No, I’m an angel. You are a hunter, correct?”

                “Yeah, I just didn’t know angels were a real thing.”

                He nodded, giving you a bemused expression, “well, we are. And I’ve saved the Winchesters countless times--”

                “So why’re you bothering me?” You glared at him, narrowing your eyes.

                “You’re a Winchester.”

                “No, I’m not.” You laughed and held up your left hand, “see? No ring.”

                “Not yet, but in the future you will be.” Castiel nodded and looked around the Impala, “Dean let you take his car?”

                “Wait--say that again.”

                “Dean let you take his car?” Castiel asked curiously.

                “No. Before that.”

                “Oh, that you’ll be a Winchester?”

                “Yeah.” You nodded, looking at him with big eyes as you pulled over on the side of the road.

                “Well, yes. Didn’t you know?” Castiel’s eyebrows furrowed together.

                “Does this look like the face of someone who knew their future?” You question sarcastically, rolling your eyes.

                “No, it looks like someone who’s annoyed or upset.” He nodded a little, shrugging.

                “Fucking--fine. Okay. So why’re you here then? I’m not a Winchester  _ yet _ .” You rephrased your question, glancing at him.

                “Dean prayed for me to come to you.” Castiel gave you an awkward smile.

                “Dean prayed?” You raised an eyebrow, not believing him.

                “Yes. He does that quite often. Mostly for your safety, as well as the baby’s.” Castiel nodded.

                You stayed quiet and nodded, chewing your lip as you thought about it. You couldn’t deny that it made sense. But you didn’t say anything for a few minutes, just taking it in. Finally, you felt a shudder overcome you and you cried for the final time over this. Castiel didn’t touch you until you curled up next to him, your head resting on his shoulder as you tried to feel better. He let you talk about your dilemma with Sam and Dean, listening closely as he nodded slowly.

                Eventually, he pulled away and smiled, “you’ll be fine. And Sam’s right. It’s a girl.”

                With that, the flutter of wings happened and he was gone.

                You stared at the spot he’d been sitting in just a moment ago and thought for a little longer, then drove back. The house was dark as you pulled up and parked. But when you walked in, Dean was waiting for you--and without a word, he wrapped you in a hug, and pulled you back upstairs.


	36. Kansas - 1977

                You hadn’t spoken to Sam since that night, which became increasingly difficult as he tried to get closer to you. Dean was usually there to fend him off, but lately, it was like Sam knew the exact times that you would be alone so he could try to talk with you. Each time, though, you denied it and would leave the conversation before it could even start. 

                It couldn’t last forever, though. You all knew that.

                Bobby did his best to shield you from Sam--especially when he’d start to get violent. Which is how you found out that Bobby had a panic room in his basement. It’d been a few weeks though, and he was still stuck in there. On a day that Dean and Bobby were gone, you found yourself standing at the top of the stairs, looking down the flight to a hall that lead to the room where Sam was locked in. 

                You wouldn’t open the door. No. You’re smarter than that. But you wanted to talk to him while he was contained--just in case. Carefully, you went down the steps, taking each with caution as you seriously considered your choice. Before you knew it, you were at the door, opening the little metal slot. It creaked open and there was some rustling from inside the room.

                “Dean?” Sam assumed, not giving you time to respond. “You here to lecture me again? Tell me why I have to leave her alone?”

                That was a surprise to you, and you matched his questions with silence.

                “Real mature, Dean,” Sam rolled his eyes--you still couldn’t see him through the little slot in the door. “I’m not gonna do anything to her. You don’t seem to understand that I still care about her.” There was a slight pause, and Sam corrected himself, “at least--as much as I can.”

                As much as he can? What did that mean? Is there still enough Sam left in there to actively love and care about you?

                “I feel responsible for them. And being locked in here is making it worse.” Sam confessed, his voice softening in the slightest, “I know I’m not myself and you seem to think I like being like this.”

                “You don’t?” You finally asked--making Sam go silent.

                It felt like forever before Sam asked, “what’re you doing down here?”

                “I wanted to talk to you.”

                “That’s a stupid idea.”

                “Yeah, I’m sure you think it is, Sam.” You almost snapped, resting your forehead against the door, “with everything you just said it makes complete sense.”

                “Don’t even try,” he laughed sarcastically and shook his head, “you don’t know anything.”

                “I know you miss me. That you miss us.” You retorted, “I can feel it.”

                That made him shut up.

                Silence spread thick in the air until you felt him rest his head against the door too.

                “You were right,” you said softly, “it is a girl.”

                He nodded a little bit and thought, “have you come up with a name?”

                “Not yet.” You shook your head and ran your hand over your bump, “you?”

                “You care what I think?”

                “You  _ are _ the father.”

                Sam hesitated before he asked, “so you’re still gonna have the kid know I’m it’s dad? Even if you’re with Dean?”

                You felt your breath get caught in your throat as you thought it out, “well--I don’t really know.” Your voice had grown softer as you spoke, until you finally said, “I love you both.”

                “Dean probably loves you more than I do.”

                “Don’t compare yourselves,” you scowled, shaking your head, “I love you both. That’s all.”

                “Who wins at the end of the day, though?”

                This time, it was your turn to stay quiet--the big decision facing you head on. Sam had gotten so quiet that you thought he left the door--that he was done talking to you. But after almost ten minutes, the silence broke.

                “I like the name Violet.”


	37. Toto - 1982

                Sam and Dean had been gone for almost two weeks. You were staying with Bobby while they were on their hunt. Which was good--Bobby was like the father you always needed and he helped you with as much as he could. You were about six months along at this point, and you were already sick of being pregnant. But you were more irritated by Sam’s state--still soulless. 

                But there wasn’t anything to do about that--you couldn’t bring back his soul--no matter how much you wanted. Little did you know that that would all change within a matter of minutes. Bobby had set you up at his kitchen table with some lunch--which you had protested with until he said that he’d take you out to go do anything you wanted. At the moment though, you just wanted to sleep and be warm--but getting out of the house would do you some good.

                Suddenly, the door busted open and Bobby jumped into action--grabbing his gun and pointing it at the entrance. Sam rushed into the room, looking around with big eyes. Color had returned to his cheeks and he looked alive again--the moment he saw you, he rushed over and scooped you into a tight hug.

                “I’m  _ so _ sorry,” he spoke softly, playing with your hair, “I don’t--I can’t remember everything but--I know I fucked up. I know I did.”

                You were too shocked to say anything--this was your Sam. Not the Sam that had been living with you for the past two-ish months, but  _ your _ Sam. You felt your chest tighten and tears spill out of the corners of your eyes--you hugged him tightly and nuzzled your face in his neck, finally feeling that warmth that you missed so much. Sam held you tightly, playing with your hair as he whispered little things to you.

                Dean came in a few minutes later and looked at Bobby, who asked, “what the hell happened?”

                “He’s back,” Dean shrugged, “I don’t know how or why. But he’s back.”

                You were too focused on holding onto Sam to notice their conversation--but what you  _ did _ notice was a weird fluttering in your stomach. Without thinking, you grabbed Sam’s hand and put it on your bump--catching him off guard. It took a minute, but suddenly his eyes got big and he laughed softly, grinning from ear to ear.

                “Is that..?”

                “I think so,” you nodded and smiled.

                Dean blinked in surprise and looked at Bobby, who just shrugged and mumbled, “give them a minute.”

                Sam smiled and pulled you back into a hug, holding onto you like you would disappear in a second.

                “I missed you so much,” you said softly, your hand moving to his hair.

                “I missed you too,” Sam kissed your forehead and held you tighter, not minding the push of your bump into him.

                Dean and Bobby left the room, letting you and Sam take as much time as you needed. But as he walked out, you knew something was wrong with Dean--and you had a feeling of what it was.

                You two had gotten together because Sam was gone--and now that he was back, what did that mean for you? It’s not like you were gonna break up with him just because Sam was back, but you also weren’t about to give up on your relationship with Sam. The thought made you huff and shake your head. You wanted them  _ both _ . Not just one or the other.  _ Both _ .

                But this wasn’t the time to decide that. Instead, you just savored having Sam back. 


	38. Billy Joel - 1983

                “I’m gonna go to bed,” Sam announced as he got up, stretching a bit.

                When he went to walk out of the room, his walk slowed and he glanced back at you, “uhm--(y/n), aren’t you gonna come with me?”

                You glanced to Dean and Bobby. It’d been less than a day and none of you had said a word to Sam about you and Dean’s relationship. Awkwardly, you nodded and got up, shuffling over to him. 

                “Sure.”

                He smiled and wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you to the room he’d adopted to be his own. 

                That was your first night away from Dean.

                Two weeks had passed like this, and Dean was  _ pissed _ . He hated that you wouldn’t stand up and say that you weren’t with him anymore, that you let him drag you to his room each night. He didn’t know that you refused to let anything happen--not like Sam was trying just yet, but you knew it wouldn’t be long. Early one morning, you’d gotten up and went out to the kitchen to make some coffee for the boys.

                Dean was sitting at the table, flipping through the newspaper.

                “Goodmorning baby,” you said softly, going over to him.

                “‘Morning.”

                “Don’t be mad.”

                “How can’t I be mad?” Dean pushed his chair back and glanced up at you, “you’ve been spending every minute with gigantor and--I’m glad he’s back too. But you’re  _ my _ girl.”

                “I know, I know, but we’ve gotta tell him together. It’s not just my responsibility.” You snapped, eyes watering.

                The mood swings had been hitting you harder lately.

                “Oh come on, don’t do that to me,” Dean groaned and sat back, “you’re gonna make me feel like shit.”

                “I’m not trying to.” You mumbled softly and rubbed your eyes, “I’m just sad.”

                “I know you are, but can you think about how I’m--”

                “Of course I’m thinking about how you feel!” You raised your voice a little as you sniffed, “that’s all I’ve been thinking about.”

                Dean stayed quiet for a minute before he got up and wrapped you in his arms. Right away, you nuzzled into his chest and relished in his hands that tangled in your hair.

                “I’m sorry.” He finally said, pulling you up to kiss you.

                You held onto his shirt and kissed him for a solid minute before you heard a solid:

                “What the fuck?”


	39. Taj Mahal - 1969

                “Sam,  _ please _ , just listen,” you begged, tears streaming down your face as your hands clenched at your sides.

                “No--I already know what happened. I know what Dean does.” Sam huffed, crossing his arms. “He swoops in when they need help or when they’re grieving and takes his claim.”

                “That’s not what happened.” Dean snapped.

                “Oh, sure.”

                “It’s not!” You nearly screeched--your voice raw as you started to shake. “It’s because of me.”

                Sam stared at you for a minute, not understanding it, “you don’t have to take the blame for him.”

                “I’m not.” You rubbed your eyes roughly, “I was the one who went to him and said that I was sick of missing you and--and that I needed him to help distract me.”

                He was silent, then scoffed, “yeah. Sure.”

                “I’m telling the truth!”

                “She is.”

                “Then why don’t I believe it?” Sam asked, shaking his head.

                You huffed in frustration and climbed on Dean’s lap, then kissed him hard--trying to make a point while getting a little bit of frustration out. Sam nearly ripped you off of him a second later--sending you back to your chair. The rough movement caught you off guard and made you start to shake harder. 

                The three of you sat in silence, Dean, a little breathless, Sam, a huffy mess. You were trying not to cry--though you were failing.

                Suddenly, Sam was up and was staring at Dean with huge eyes.

                “You keep your hands off of her. Got it?”

                “You can’t stop me,” Dean retorted.

                “Are you gonna stop  _ me _ ?” Your voice wavered as you spoke.

                “Leave. Her. Alone.” Sam pointed at you, his eyes still fixed on Dean.

                You got up and pushed past him, feeling a very sudden shift in your bump that caught you off guard--making you halt in the doorway.

                But within another minute, you were back and you stormed up to you and Dean’s room, trying to ignore the hard fluttering in your bump.


	40. The Beatles - 1970

                You were in your room, pacing around as you tried to think of what you should do. Every now and then you would start crying, but that partially had to do with how pregnant you were. Eventually, you sat on your bed and put your head in your hands, too tired to figure it out at that moment.

                The door opened and Dean walked in, his steps soft as he walked over and crouched in front of you.

                “You know that I love you, right?”

                You nod a little and sniff, glancing up at him, “of course I do.”

                “So you know when I say this next thing, that it’s gonna hurt, but I’m saying it because you need to make a choice.” His voice was thick as he spoke, “and I’m gonna help you if you want it.”

                He waited for you to say something, but you just gave a little nod and stayed silent.

                “I want you to be with Sam.” He said softly, “beca--”

                “What?” You asked, your eyes wide. “Don’t--don’t you wanna be with me? Don’t you wanna have a family? Isn’t that--that was why--we were--”

                “Hear me out.” Dean cut you off, his eyes watery. “Of course I wanna have a family--I’ve already got a better one than I could ask for. And I do wanna be with you, but you were with Sam first.” He gently placed a hand on your bump, “you’re having a kid together.”

                You sniffed and bit your lip, putting your hand over his.

                “And I’m not gonna stand in the way of that. You belong with him.”

                There was a knock at the door and you glanced up, moving your hand away from Dean’s as Sam walked into the room.

                “I talked to her,” Dean nodded, pulling away from you.

                Sam kneeled next to his brother and gently reached out, putting his hand on your knee. “What do you think?”

                You shrugged and rubbed your eyes again, not wanting to talk about it anymore. Silence spread thick over the room, hanging heavily as you waited for one of them to say something.

                Finally, Dean sighed heavily and shook his head, “I’m the one leaving, okay?” He asked, watching your eyes, “I’m the one who’s stepping back. So your choice is to be alone or be with Sam, alright?”

                After a moment of silence, you nodded and started to cry. Dean got up and left, even though it killed him, and Sam sat next to you, pulling you into a tight hug. Your whole body shook as you cried into his shoulder, shuddering with each sob as you clutched onto his shirt as if he’d disappear. He tangled his hand in your hair and pressed kisses to your forehead, 

                “It’s okay,” he said quietly, playing with your hair as you continued to cry. “You’re gonna be fine, I promise.”

                “It’s not gonna be fine, Sam,” you shook your head and pulled away, meeting his eyes. “I’m not okay.”

                “Then what can I do to help?”

                “Just--stay. And--I can’t be with you right now. I just need time. Okay?” You asked, your eyes big.

                “Okay,” Sam agreed after a minute, “okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the past twenty songs!
> 
> We Gotta Get Out of This Place - The Animals  
> Open Arms - Journey   
> We Can Talk - The Band  
> Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood - The Animals  
> Suite: Judy Blue Eyes - Crosby, Stills, & Nash  
> Closer - Nine Inch Nails  
> More Than Words - Extreme  
> Jessie’s Girl - Rick Springfield  
> Faithfully - Journey  
> I Love The Night - Blue Oyster Cult  
> I’ll Be Alright Without You - Journey  
> Piano Man - Billy Joel  
> Love Ain’t for Keeping - The Who  
> A New Day Yesterday - Jethro Tull  
> Fast Car - Tracy Chapman  
> Dust in the Wind - Kansas  
> Africa - Toto  
> The Longest Time - Billy Joel  
> Keep Your Hands Off Her - Taj Mahal  
> Let it Be - The Beatles


	41. Lynyrd Skynyrd - 1973

                Sam and Bobby had gone out on a quick hunt when you were a week before your due date. Dean had gotten a pretty bad gash on his side from a previous hunt, and wasn’t allowed to go on all of your orders. He had protested it, but Bobby had talked him into it. You and Sam hadn’t really connected yet, even though it’d been a few weeks. 

                You were sleeping in the same bed, sure, but you weren’t really talking or being close. It’d been awkward and uncomfortable but you guys were managing. 

                And though you two weren’t exactly close at the moment--you missed him a whole lot. Something about him being gone felt wrong, and you were waiting by the window every moment you had. You and Dean were watching a movie, all cuddled up together and about to fall asleep when you felt a sudden rush between your legs and a hard fluttering in your stomach. 

                It took a minute before you cringed, inhaling shakily as you shuddered--your fisrt contraction wildly unpleasant and uncomfortable. 

                “You okay?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow as he shifted to get a better look at you.

                “Yeah,” you lied through your teeth, biting your lip as you nodded. “I’m fine.”

                He narrowed his eyes and shook his head, “no--isn’t this like contractions from the book?”

                “Y--Yeah, but uh--I’m fine.”

                “No you’re not.” Dean shook his head and started to get up--then realized that your water had broke. “We’re getting you to the hospital.”

                “No--I don’t want to.” You shook your head and moved back into the couch, shaking your head.

                “Yes, you have to.”

                “No, Dean, I’m too tired,” you huffed a little, your chest tightening as you rubbed your eyes, “I don’t want to go to the hospital--I’m fine. It’s fine. I’m not having the baby until Sam gets back.”

                “Um--(y/n)--that’s not how this works.” He shook his head.

                “Yes it is.” You said firmly, “I can’t do it without Sam.”

                “I’ll call him. Okay? I’ll tell him you’re going into labor and he’ll be on his way in no time.” Dean offered, hoping to appease you.

                “O--Okay.” You nodded and shifted uncomfortably, sniffing a little as you tried to get comfortable.

                Dean left the room for a minute, cursing quietly just before he returned, “okay--I left a message, but he’ll be back, I told him that we’re going to the hospital. It’ll be fine.”

                “No. I--I can’t go yet. I need him, Dean.”

                “You guys aren’t even close a--”

                “That doesn’t mean I don’t need him!” You squeaked, starting to shake.

                “Woah, woah, woah, calm down babe,” Dean nodded a little, “okay, we’ll wait. But at five minutes we’re leaving. Whether he’s here or not.”

                “Sure. Five minutes.”

                That time went quicker than you expected though--and suddenly you were counting down the seconds to when the next contraction would hit.

                “J--Just another minute, Dean,” you begged, biting your lip.

                “In another minute you could be four or three minutes apart--we’re not doing that. It’s cutting it too close.” He shook his head, grabbing your jacket.

                “ _ Please _ ,” you pleaded, tears spilling down your cheeks.

                “I--”

                Thankfully, Dean’s phone started to ring--scaring the shit out of both of you, but thankfully, it was Sam. Dean held up his finger and answered, talking quickly with him until he hung up and nodded.

                “He wants you to go to the hospital.”

                “No--I can’t. Not unless he’s here.” You shook your head.

                “He’s more than an hour out and he wants you to go, (y/n), do it for him.” Dean nearly begged as he helped you into your coat.

                “I can’t!” You shouted, finally letting go of the dam that was holding you back from fully crying.

                “He’s on his way,” Dean cupped your face in his hands so you’d look at him, “he’ll be here before you know it.”

                “I’m. Not. Going.” You whine, unknowingly tiring yourself out.

                Dean sighed, seeing that he wasn’t going to be able to argue with you.

                “Two out of three.” Dean offered his hand to you, which was held out, ready for rock paper scissors. 

                You rolled your eyes but played along anyways--losing by default when a contraction hit you as you threw your hand the second time around. 

                “Yup. You’re going.” Dean pulled you up carefully and started to lead you out to the Impala.

                The ride was pretty hard to remember since you spent the whole time whimpering. And you couldn’t really remember much as you were being wheeled into the hospital--Dean rattled off something to a nurse but you didn’t hear it--everything was moving so fast.

                They got you in a bed and you kept squirming around, crying a little as you fidgeted and whined.

                “Where is he, Dean?” You asked, your whole body trembling.

                “He’s on his way--just hold on.” Dean squeezed your hand, honestly as terrified as you were.

                “C--Can you call him?” You sniffed, trying to hold back tears. “I need to talk to him.”

                “Yeah--hold on.” He let go of your hand and pulled out his phone, sitting on the edge of his seat.

                You tried to climb out of bed, but found that moving hurt--something it shouldn’t do. Dean caught your drift and sat on your bed, gently pulling you onto his lap. You clutched onto his shirt and listened to the dial tone. A few rings in, and Sam picked up. It was hard enough to stop yourself from crying, let alone listen in on what the brothers were talking about. Dean had his arms tight around you, and after a few minutes, he finally said, “okay Sammy, I’m gonna give her the phone.”

                Dean handed the phone to you and you pressed it against your ear, “hello?”

                “Hey baby--I’m on my way--I’m just a few hours away. Dean mentioned that you’re only six centimeters dilated--so I just need you to hold on, I’ll be there before you know it, okay?” Sam asked. Everything that had been separating you two in the past few weeks melted away as you listened to his voice.

                “I--I’ll try,” you sniffed, your shoulders shaking.

                “I’m proud of you, okay? You’re so strong--and I’m sorry that I’m not there right now, but I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

                “Just drive safe. I need you--Violet needs you.”

                “I will. I will. I’ll call in an hour. I’ll check in just to make sure you’re okay.”

                “Okay.”

                There was a moment of hesitation where you felt the build up to another contraction.

                “I love you, (y/n).”

                With a quick nod, your voice cracked just as it hit you, “I--I love you too, Sammy.” You spoke through gritted teeth. Dean’s phone clattered to the floor as your hands curled into fists--something was  _ definitely _ wrong.

                What you last remembered was Dean looking at you like he was looking at a hurt little kid. What you woke up to was Dean, holding your hand as he shouted.

                “(y/n)--(y/n)!” Dean shouted, gripping your hand tightly, “just hang on--Sammy’s gonna be here soon.”

                Your eyes started to flutter shut--your head falling back as exhaustion rolled over you.

                “Honey, we need you to push now,” the nurse said, her voice shaking.

                “What’s going on with her?” Dean asked, his grip on you growing tighter.

                “I don’t know,” your doctor responded. “We need you to push--can you do that (y/n)?”  

                You gave a weak nod--your whole body trembling as you took a deep breath. And just as you were about to push, your vision gave way.

                That was the last thing you remembered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think the next chapter is gonna be the end, I want it to wrap up nicely and I think this would be the perfect way to end it. Let me know what you think!


	42. Boston - 1976

                When you woke up, your vision was still blurry--one figure was in front of you, sitting in a chair. Another was laying next to you--Sam.

                “Mhm, Violet, look at that,” you could hear his warm voice hum, “oh that’s such a big yawn.”

                “I never thought I’d hear so much baby talk come out of you.” Dean laughed lightly.

                “Shut up--I can talk to my daughter however I want,” he shook his head.

                The two brothers laughed softly, silence settling over the room for a few minutes until Dean broke it.

                “She looks just like (y/n),” Dean said, moving his chair closer to you.

                “I only hope she grows up looking like her,” Sam shook his head a little, pressing a kiss to the side of your forehead.

                That’s when your eyes fully fluttered open, looking at Dean, before you finally looked at Sam. He laid alongside you, his arm around your shoulders, in his other was your little girl. There was a small nick along his eyebrow--a scrape along his cheek--small bruises, but otherwise, he looked great.

                “Hey baby,” he smiled and kissed your cheek. 

                Once he pulled away, you finally saw Violet--who looked so small in her dad’s arms.

                “She’s so tiny,” you breathed--a smile creeping onto your lips.

                “Dean, can you take her?” Sam asked and sat up a little.

                “Yeah,” he nodded and stood up, carefully plucking her out of Sam’s arms, “c’mere Violet, let’s go check out the hot nurses.” Dean grinned a little and bounced her in his arms, carrying her out of the room.

                Once you two were alone, Sam pushed your hair out of your face, “the doctors still don’t know why you blacked out.” He sighed softly and got up, getting you a cup of ice, “they think it’s something to do with blood loss, maybe--but they wanna keep you longer for observation.”

                “Why? I--It’s normal to pass out during labor though, right?” You asked, moving so you were sitting up--feeling uncomfortable as you moved.

                “Not really. Right after you gave labor, you woke up for a minute and blacked out again,” Sam shook his head and handed you the cup, “they’re worried that it’ll keep happening.”

                “What would it mean if it kept happening?” You asked and held the cup close to your chest--appreciating its coolness against your skin.

                “It’s not good to keep blacking out, (y/n), they’re worried about your stress levels.” Sam sighed, watching your eyes.

                You nodded a little and sucked on ice cubes--both of you were quiet as you thought about the past twenty four hours.

                “Can we go back to normal?” You finally asked, glancing up at him. “No more awkward comments or anything? Just--back to us?”

                Sam nodded a little and went over to you, “yeah--of course.”

                He sat down next to you and you curled up against him, clutching onto his shirt as you took deep breaths--part of you a little scared that he would disappear. Sam wrapped his arms around you and held you tight against his chest, taking deep breaths as he focused on making you feel better.

                “I love you.” You said softly, glancing up at him.

                Sam smiled warmly and pulled you up, kissing you for a minute before he pulled back and rested his forehead against yours, “I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and commenting and leaving kudos! Stay tuned for my next story, which should be out soon!


	43. Sequel is out now!!

I started the sequel! Please go check it out!

 

[ _Vacancy_ ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10036397)


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